St.  Vincents  Hall 
O'Connor  Sanitarium 


Pnmthplrr* 


MR.   ANNKSLKY  FOUND  IT  WAS  TIME  TO  GO. 


CHAP. 


MOETON    HOUSE. 


A    NOVEL. 


THE  AUTHOK  OF  "YALEKIE  AYLMER." 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NEW    YOKK: 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

72    FIFTH    AVENUE. 
1895. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

D.  APPLETON  &  CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


St  Viacom  Kail 
0'Conaor 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  1'AGB 

I. OUT   OF   THE   DTT8K      ...  1 

ii. — MR.  WARWICK'S  GHOST         .  7 

III. — PAULINE   MORTON       .  .  .11 

IV. — WHAT   MRS.    ANNE8LEY    DID    .  14 

V. — AFTER   TWENTY    YEARS        .            .  19 

TI. WHAT   MORTON   SAID       .            .  26 

Til. — HOW     A     PALADIN     STORMED     A 

OASTLE            ....  30 

VIII. — THE   ADELAIDE        ...  37 

IX. — MR.    WARWICK  MAKES    AN  OFFER  42 

X. — THE    GORDON    PLAID   ...  49 

XI. — AT  MORTON   HOUSE          .           .  63 

XII. — THE   TUG   OF   WAR       ...  58 

XIII. — MISS    TRESHAM    ASKS  ADVICE  62 

XIV. — R.    G. 69 

XV. — MERRY    CHRISTMAS            .           .  74 

XVI. — ST.    CECILIA           ....  80 

XVII. — THE   APPLE    OF   DISCORD            .  85 

XVIII. — ST.    JOHN                ....  91 

XIX. — YOU    CANNOT    LET    ME  HELP  YOU  97 

xx. — MR.  WARWICK'S  NEW  CLIENT    .  103 

XXI. — MISS  TRESHAM  KEEPS  HER  WORD  110 
XXn. — SPITFIRE     PLAYS    AT    HIDE-AND- 
SEEK    115 

XXIII. — A  MORNING-CALL   .  122 


XXIV. OLD   FOE8     ....  126 

xxv. — MORTON'S  CHOICE    .        .  133 

XXVI. MR.  MARKS  ASSERTS  HIMSELF  138 

xxvn. — MRS.  GORDON'S  SUGGESTION  142 

XXVIII. — ON   GUARD     ....  149 

XXIX. — THE   SICK  LADY           .           .  153 

XXX. AN   OLD    FRIEND    .  .  .161 

XXXI. — FATHER   MARTIN          .            .  168 
XXXII. — LIFE   AND   DEATH              .            .173 

xxxin. — MRS.  GORDON'S  SUSPICION  180 
xxxiv. — MR.   WARWICK'S   INVESTIGA- 
TION     184 

XXXV. — TWO  AND  TWO  MAKE  FOUE  191 

XXXVI. — CHECKMATED         .        .        .  200 

XXXVII. — TO  WIN  OR  LOSE  IT  ALL  .  206 

XXXVIII. — MEA  CULPA  ....  213 

xxxix. — MISS  TRESHAM'S  REPLY     .  221 

XL. — GOOD    SAMARITANS            .            .  227 

XLI. THE   LAST   DEFIANCE             .  234 

XLII. — ON   THE   THRESHOLD   OF  MOR- 
TON  HOUSE             .           .           .  241 
XLIII. — THE     VALLEY    OF    THE    SHAD- 
OW  OF   DEATH            .           .  247 
XLIV. — IN   THE   DAWN          .            .            .  252 
XLV. — A  TURN  OF  FORTUNE'S  WHEEL  259 


2047353 


MORTON    HOUSE 


CHAPTER   I. 

OUT   OF   THE    DUSK. 

IT  was  drawing  toward  the  close  of  a  soft 
November  day,  some  thirty  years  ago,  when  the 
Bound  of  children's  merry  laughter  burst  sud- 
denly into  the  quiet  garden  of  a  quiet  house, 
situated  on  the  outskirts  of  the  moderately-sized 
Tillage  of  Tallahoma,  in  the  populous  and  wealthy 
county  of  Lagrange.  The  sun  had  gone  down, 
leaving  behind  him  broken  masses  of  gorgeously- 
tinted  clouals,  which  were  forming  themselves  into 
fanciful  shapes  of  mountains  and  castles,  while 
over  the  distant  landscape  the  brooding  haze  of 
the  Indian  summer  began  to  melt  into  the  deeper 
purple  of  the  gloaming;  and  the  peculiar  cool- 
ness that  betokens  coming  frost,  to  make  itself 
perceptibly  felt  in  the  pearly  atmosphere.  It 
was  only  the  first  of  the  month,  and  as  yet  but 
few  of  the  trees  had  shed  their  leaves.  The 
russet  of  the  oaks,  the  pale  yellow  of  the  elms, 
the  burning  scarlet  of  the  maples,  and  the  vivid 
gold  of  the  chestnuts,  were  all  in  their  glory,  and 
formed  a  bright  autumnal  background  for  the 
sober  house  which  overshadowed  the  blooming 
garden,  and  the  noisy  groups  that  were  scamper- 
ing up  and  down  its  paths. 

Very  noisy  groups  they  were  ;  and  yet  their 
noise  did  not  seem  at  all  disturbing  to  a  young 
girl  who  had  followed  them  o  it,  and  stood  lean- 
ing over  the  low  garden-gate,  while  they  played 
hide-and-seek  among  the  rose-bushes.  Perhaps 
this  noise  had  grown  an  accustomed  thing  to  her 
ears,  as  a  great  deal  of  it  was  her  daily  portion ; 
or,  perhaps,  she  liked  children  well  enough  to 
like  even  this  their  most  disagreeable  attribute 


— a  conclusion  devoutly  to  be  wished  by  all  in- 
terested in  her  welfare,  since  Fate  had  made  of 
her  that  much-tried  being,  a  governess.  At  al\ 
events  she  did  not  heed  it  in  the  least.  The 
worse  than  Mohawk  yells  of  uproarious  Dick, 
the  squabbling  of  Jack  and  Katy,  the  indignant 
remonstrances  of  elder  Sara,  and  even  the  lifting 
up  of  baby  Nelly's  voice  in  injured  weeping, 
were  all  unnoticed  by  their  young  teacher,  who 
kept  her  eyes  steadily  fastened  on  the  distant 
horizon,  where  the  line  of  dark  woods  melted 
into  the  hazy  atmosphere,  and  the  pale-blue 
smoke  curled  upward  from  several  unseen  chim- 
neys. Not  that  Miss  Tresham  did  not  hear  the 
various  disturbances.  But,  even  in  the  school- 
room, she  ignored  a  great  deal,  for  peace'  sake , 
and,  once  out  of  that  durance  vile,  she  left  the 
children  much  to  themselves — giving  them,  in 
unimportant  matters,  that  blessed  freedom  of 
conduct  and  speech  which  no  human  creature 
is  too  young  or  too  ignorant  to  appreciate. 

She  was  a  stately  creature,  this  Katharine 
Tresham  ;  and  one  of  the  women  who  possess  a 
power  of  attraction  quite  apart  from  personal 
gifts.  Her  face  was  not  a  beautiful  one,  by  any 
means  ;  yet  few  beautiful  faces  pleased  either  so 
well  or  so  long  as  this,  notwithstanding  its  faults. 
The  gray  eyes  were  very  clear  and  honest  in  their 
glance,  but  there  was  none  of  the  sunny  gleam 
of  violet  orbs,  or  the  dusky  splendor  which  dwells 
in  dark  ones  ;  the  complexion  was  very  fair  and 
pure,  but  rather  pale,  unless  some  quick  emotion 
or  pleasurable  excitement,  sent  a  clear  carmine 
glow  to  the  cheeks ;  the  nose  was  straight  and 
delicate,  but  not  in  the  least  classical ;  and,  if 
the  mouth  was  all  that  a  mouth  could  or  should 
be,  the  unusual  squareness  of  the  chin  gave  a 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


finish  to  the  face  that  was  far  from  adding  to  its 
symmetry.  Still,  no  one  could  deny  that  Miss 
Tresham  was  handsome — handsome  in  a  very 
striking  and  aristocratic  style — that  her  hands 
and  feet  were  irreproachable  in  size  and  shape, 
that  her  lithe,  slender  figure  was  so  well  devel- 
oped that  not  even  an  artist  could  have  wished 
for  it  a  pound  of  flesh  either  more  or  less  ;  and 
that  she  carried  herself  with  a  very  distinguished 
manner.  Most  women,  looking  in  their  mirror 
at  a  face  so  fair  and  a  form  so  noble,  would  have 
been  tempted  to  murmur  at  the  fate  which  had 
dealt  with  them  so  hardly ;  but  this  was  the  one 
point  wherein  Katharine  Tresham  proved  her- 
self something  more  than  mediocre.  She  did  not 
indulge  any  vain  regrets,  or  still  more  vain  aspi- 
rations ;  she  did  not  mourn  any  withered  hopes, 
or  bewail  any  blighted  existence :  but  she  took 
life  as  she  found  it,  and  bore  its  burden  with  a 
courage  as  cheerful  as  it  was  patient.  Her  em- 
ployers were  always  kind  and  considerate,  the 
children  were  warmly  attached  to  her,  she  was 
beyond  the  reach  of  storms  that  had  once  beat 
very  roughly  on  her  head ;  and  as  her  disposition 
— a  disposition  more  to  be  prized  than  gold  or 
precious  stones — was  eminently  one  of  content, 
she  furled  her  sails,  and  rested  quietly  in  the 
pleasant  haven  into  which  she  had  drifted,  where 
the  sea  was  smooth  beneath,  and  the  sky  was 
bright  above  her.  No  genius,  the  reader  will 
perceive ;  no  unsatisfied  yearning  being,  full  of 
repressed  passion  and  morbid  longings ;  only  a 
brave,  bright  young  gentlewoman,  who  was 
Christian  enough  to  be  satisfied  that  God  knew 
what  was  best  for  her ;  who  took  the  good  He 
gave,  with  grateful  heart,  and  rarely  murmured 
at  the  ill. 

She  was  leaning  over  the  gate  now,  softly 
singing  to  herself  a  verse  of  song,  and  gazing 
over  the  scene  before  her,  with  eyes  that  took  in 
and  enjoyed  all  its  beauty.  But,  after  a  while, 
the  children  began  a  game  very  near,  and  sent 
their  shouts  ringing  through  the  clear  autumn 
air,  with  such  hearty  good-will,  that  the  young 
governess  was  fain  to  put  wider  space  between 
herself  and  their  merriment.  So  she  turned 
away,  and  began  pacing  up  and  down  a  shel- 
tered walk — a  walk  bounded  on  one  side  by  the 
garden-fence  and  a  hedge  of  Cherokee  rose,  on 
the  other  by  tall  gooseberry-bushes.  A  bright- 
red  glow  of  the  flaming  western  sky  fell  over 
her  as  she  moved  to  and  fro,  lighting  up  her 
rich  brown  hair,  her  clear,  bright  eyes,  and  her 
tall,  slender  figure,  and  making  a  very  attractive 
picture  of  youth  and  grace,  in  the  midst  of  the 


lovely  autumn  scene.  At  length,  she  drew  <\ 
small  volume  from  her  pocket  and  began  to  read. 
Thirty  years  ago.  Tennyson's  fame  was  yet  young 
— not  so  young,  however,  but  that,  even  in  the 
backwoods  of  America,  men  had  heard  his 
name ;  and  the  girl  who  paced  up  and  down  the 
garden  on  that  soft  Indian  summer  evening,  was 
steeping  her  soul  in  the  beauty  and  music  of 
those  early  poems  which  no  after-efforts  can 
ever  supplant  in  our  hearts.  Enthralled  in  the 
sweeping  rhythm,  it  was  rather  hard  to  be  sud- 
denly recalled  to  commonplace  reality  by  a 
child's  eager,  uplifted  voice. 
<  "  Miss  Tresham,  Miss  Tresham  ! "  sounded  the 
cry,  "  Look,  oh,  look,  what  a  pretty  horse  Mr. 
Annesley's  on  !  May  I — please — may  I  ask  him 
to  give  me  a  ride  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Miss  Tresham, 
speaking  with  great  decision,  but  without  look- 
ing up  from  her  book.  "  Katy,  you  know  your 
mother  forbade  your  ever  again  asking  Mr. 
Annesley  for  a  ride." 

"  But  she  did  not  forbid  her  taking  a  ride  if 
Mr.  Annesley  asked  her,  did  she  ?  "  said  a  gay 
voice ;  and  the  next  moment  there  appeared  al 
the  end  of  Katharine's  walk,  between  the  Chero- 
kee hedge  and  the  gooseberry-bushes,  a  slender, 
handsome  young  cavalier,  in  riding-boots  and 
spurs,  who  stood  with  Katy  mounted  triumph- 
antly on  his  shoulder,  one  tiny  hand  clutching 
nervously  at  his  coat-collar,  and  her  blond  ring- 
lets falling  in  a  golden  shower  upon  his  crisp 
dark  curls. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  she  forbade  that,"  Katha- 
rine replied,  looking  up  with  a  smile,  whether 
merely  of  recognition,  or  of  welcome  also,  it  was 
hard  to  say.  "  But  indeed  you  are  spoiling  that 
child  dreadfully,  Mr.  Annesley !  She  never  sees 
you  that  she  does  not  expect  some  marked  atten- 
tion, and  almost  breaks  her  heart  when  you  do 
not  notice  her." 

"  And  do  I  ever  fail  to  notice  her — when  I 
see  her  ? "  asked  he,  swinging  Katy  to  the 
ground,  and  coming  nearer  to  Katharine — seem 
ing,  at  the  same  time,  to  bring  sunshine  with 
him  in  his  hazel  eyes  and  brilliant  smile.  "I. 
am  sure  I  am  always  very  attentive — am  I  not, 
my  little  coquette  ?  " 

The  little  .coquette  said  "  Yes,"  very  prompt, 
ly ;  but  Miss  Tresham  shook  her  head. 

"  It  seems  I  must  refresh  Katy's  memory," 
she  said.  "  You^vould  scarcely  believe  that  the 
other  afternoon — last  week  some  time,  I  believe 
it  was — she  cried  all  the  way  home  because  you 
passed  her  without  notice,  when  you  were  accom- 


OUT   OF  THE  DUSK. 


panying  two  ladies  down  the  village  street.  It 
was  vain  to  reason  with  her — both  her  mother 
and  myself  tried  argument  unavailingly — and 
she  sobbed  herself  to  sleep  that  night  in  pro- 
found disdain  of  bread  and  milk,  or  even  bread 
and  jam,  for  supper." 

"  I  remember  the  afternoon,"  said  the  young 
cavalier,  a  little  confusedly.  "  I  was  riding  with 
my  sister  and  a  friend  of  hers.  But  Katy  cannot 
say  that  I  did  not  speak  to  her." 

"  Ah,  but  you  didn't !  "  said  Katy,  eagerly, 
forgetting  her  contrary  assertion  of  the  moment 
before.  "  You  spoke  to  Miss  Tresham,  but  not 
like  you  always  do — and  you  didn't  notice  me  at 
all." 

"  You  shall  have  a  ride  this  evening  to  pay 
for  it,  then,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  will  be  more 
careful  in  future.  Miss  Vernon's  horse  was 
rather  unmanageable,  and  occupied  all  my  atten- 
tion. She  does  not  know  how  to  ride  as  well  as 
you  will  when  you  are  grown." 

"  Is  she  'fraid  ?  "  asked  Katy,  with  great  in- 
terest. 

"  Very  much  afraid,"  he  answered. 

Then  he  turned  to  Miss  Tresham,  and  asked 
if  she  would  not  come  and  look  at  his  new  horse. 

"  So  you  have  another  new  horse  ?  "  she  said, 
smiling.  "  Of  course,  I  will  come  and  look  at 
him.  You  know  horses  are  my  weakness,  and 
— oh  !  he  is  a  beauty  !  " 

"  Is  he  not  ?  "  responded  her  companion, 
pleased  with  her  burst  of  enthusiasm.  "  I  was 
sure  you  would  admire  him. — Soh  !  Donald  ! — 
Steady,  boy ! " 

They  had  approached  the  gate,  and  were 
leaning  over  it  together,  while  the  horse,  which 
was  fastened  outside,  began  to  move  a  little 
restlessly  at  sight  of  his  master. 

"  Look  at  him  !  "  said  that  master,  eagerly. 
"  Did  you  ever  see  a  more  symmetrical  form  ? 
And  his  head — is  it  not  superbly  set  on  the 
shoulders  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  paragon,"  said  Katharine,  playfully. 
"  And — he  is  not  dangerous,  is  he,  Mr.  Annes- 
ley  ? — I  must  go  and  speak  to  him." 

"  He  is  as  gentle  as  a  greyhound,"  said  An- 
nesley,  opening  the  gate  for  her  to  pass  out.  "  I 
only  wish — " 

But  what  he  wished  was  left  in  doubt ;  for 
he  paused  abruptly,  while  Katharine  went  up  to 
the  paragon,  and  patted  his  straight  nose  and  his 
glossy,  satin  neck,  calling  him  many  pet-names 
in  her  clear,  young  voice. 

•'  What  an  intelligent  eye  he  has  !  "  she  cried, 
suddenly.  "  I  really  believe  he  understands  all 


I  am  saying  to  him.,     Mr.  Annesley,  what  is  his 
name  ?  " 

"  Donald  is  his  name  ;  but  I  do  not  like  it." 

"  Donald  ?  No  ;  it  is  not  good  at  all ;  it  is 
not  suggestive  in  the  least ;  and  it  is  not  pretty 
either.  He  deserves  a  beautiful  name." 

"  Give  him  one,  then,"  said  Annesley,  quick 
ly.  "  He  will  be  only  too  proud  to  own  you  as  a 
sponsor.  I  have  no  aptitude  whatever  for  such 
things,  and  my  horses  are  usually  '  the  bay '  and 
'  the  sorrel '  to  their  dying-day." 

"  I  thought  you  were  more  imaginative,"  said 
Katharine,  absently.  "  Is  he  fleet  ?  "  she  went 
on,  still  looking  at  the  horse. 

"  He  is  like  the  wind,  or  the  lightning." 

"  Is  he  ?  Then  I  will  give  you  a  name  for 
him  at  once.  Call  him  Ilderim." 

"  Ilderim  ?    You  mean — " 

"  The  sobriquet  of  Bajazet,  of  course.  It 
signifies  '  The  Lightning,'  you  know.  Will  it 
do?" 

"  It  is  excellent,"  he  answered,  as,  indeed,  he 
would  have  answered  to  any  thing  whatever  of 
her  suggestion.  "  From  this  moment,  Donald 
dies,  and  Ilderim  rises  like  a  phoenix  from  his 
ashes. — Soh !  Steady,  sir ! " 

For,  arching  his  handsome  neck  like  a  bow, 
the  new-made  Ilderim  began  pawing  the  earth  so 
enei'getically  with  his  fore-foot  that  he  made  Ka- 
tharine beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

"  What  a  racer  he  would  make ! "  she  cried, 
suddenly.  "  Is  that  what  you  intend  him  for  ?  " 

"  Why,  no ;  I  had  not  thought  of  it,"  he  re- 
plied. "I  was  merely  attracted  by  his  beauty, 
and  thought  myself  lucky  to  get  him." 

"  Lucky  !  "  she  repeated,  looking  up  at  him 
with  a  smile.  "  Most  people  are  lucky  when 
Fortune  has  never  said  them  nay  in  any  one  de- 
sire of  their  hearts.  I  suppose  you  never  wished 
for  any  thing  in  your  life  without  obtaining  it." 

Standing  there  in  the  soft,  purple  dusk,  with 
one  arm  thrown  over  his  horse's  arched  neck, 
with  an  unconscious  grace  in  the  careless  atti- 
tude, a  suppressed  eagerness  in  the  handsome 
face,  and  a  chivalric  deference  in  the  uncovered 
head,  it  was  not  hard  to  believe  this — not  hard, 
indeed,  to  tell  that  here  was  one  of  those  to 
whom  had  fallen  the  purple  and  fine  linen  of  a 
world  which  gives  to  others  only  serge ;  one  of 
those  to  whom  its  wealth  and  fame,  its  love  and 
pleasure,  came,  as  it  were,  by  right  divine,  and 
who  now  and  then  flash  across  the  path  of  our 
work-day  lives,  and  make  our  twilight  seem  more 
dun  by  contrast  with  their  own  radiant  sunshine. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  very  fortunate  all  my  life,' 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


he  answered,  more  gravely  than  Katharine's  gay 
tone  seemed  to  warrant;  "but  the  future  may 
overbalance  the  past,  and  you  may  give  me  my 
first  lesson  in  denial  this  very  afternoon.  I  mean 
to  ask  a  favor  of  you  after  a  while." 

"  I  hope  it  is  one  that  I  may  be  able  to 
grant,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  But  you  know  my 
opinion  on  that  subject." 

"  That  friendship  is  best  kept  free  from  fa- 
vors ? — yes.  But  I  should  like  to  convince  you 
how  wrong  that  is.  I  should  like  to  make  you 
believe  that  real  friendship  never  hesitates  either 
to  give  or  accept  a  favor." 

"  Don't  try,"  she  said,  lightly ;  "  you  might 
fail,  and  that  would  not  be  pleasant  to  one  who 
has  never  known  failure.  I  will  grant  you  this 
much,  however — that,  where  friendship  exists  be- 
tween two  people  of  equal  position,  they  may 
afford  to  meet  each  other  half-way  in  the  matter 
of  favors ;  but,  where  one  occupies  the  worldly 
vantage-ground,  it  is  not  well  for  the  other  to 
accept  benefits  which  may  assume  the  weight  of 
obligations." 

She  spoke  very  calmly  ;  but  a  hot,  red  flush 
mounted  swiftly  to  the  brow  of  her  listener.  He 
made  one  hasty  step  forward,  and  then  fell  back 
again,  irritating  Hderim  very  much  by  the  unin- 
tentional jerk  of  his  rein. 

"  Why  do  you  say  such  things  ?  why  do  you 
take  such  a  tone  about  yourself?  "  he  cried,  with 
a  sharp  accent  of  reproach  in  his  voice.  "  You 
of  all  women  1  It  is  grievously  wrong  to  your- 
self! It  is  even  more  grievously  wrong  to 
me ! " 

"  And  why  should  I  not  look  truth  in  the 
face  ?  "  she  asked,  gravely.  "  To  say  that  I  am 
not  your  social  equal  means  nothing  that  either 
you  or  I  need  blush  to  acknowledge.  It  is  merely 
a  conventional  accident,  and  does  not  even  touch 
the  other  ground,  the  personal  ground  on  which 
we  meet — meet,  I  am  glad  to  think,  as  friends. 
That  you  are  Mr.  Annesley  of  Annesdale,  of  gen- 
tle blood  and  almost  princely  estate,  is  a  mere 
chance  of  fortune;  and  that  I  am  Katharine 
Tresham,  governess,  who  teaches  Mr.  Marks's 
children  for  six  hundred  dollars  a  year,  is  equally 
a  chance.  I  am  of  the  Old  World,  you  know. 
Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  why  these  things  seem 
to  me  at  once  a  matter  of  course  and  a  matter  of 
small  moment." 

The  young  republican  by  name,  the  young 
aristocrat  by  race  and  nature,  looked  at  her  in 
wistful  silence  for  a  moment. 

"  Yet  you  think  of  them  far  more  than  we 
do,"  he  said,  at  length. 


"  Because  I  have  been  trained  to  do  so,"  she 
answered,  moving  toward  the  half-open  gate, 
"and,  perhaps  I  ought  also  to  add,  because  I 
am  unfortunately  very  proud — much  '  too  proud 
to  care  whence  I  came.'  You  see  I  have  not 
forgotten  that  apprenticeship  to  the  convention- 
alities which  I  served  when  I  spent  a  year  as 
governess  in  England — a  year  I  would  not  live 
over  again  for  untold  wealth." 

"  But  that  was  in  England.  You  are  in  Amer 
ica  now,  thank  God  !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  an  arch  gleam  in 
her  eyes,  "I  am  in  America  now — America, 
where  I  am  theoretically  supposed  to  be  the 
equal  in  all  points  of  any  among  your  county 
gentry — we  will  say,  for  instance,  that  lovely 
Miss  Vernon.  What  would  she  think,  do  you 
suppose,  if  you  suggested  that  she  should  call 
on  Mrs.  Marks's  governess  ? — But  poor  little 
Katy !  See  how  downcast  she  is  looking !  She 
evidently  thinks  you  have  forgotten  all  about 
her  ride." 

"  I  have  not,  though,"  said  Annesley,  half 
absently ;  and,  looking  up,  he  beckoned  Katy  to 
come  to  him. 

The  little  girl  gladly  obeyed.  She  had  left  her 
companions  to  their  play,  and  had  been  leaning 
wistfully  against  the  gate,  pushing  back  her 
bright  curls,  so  as  to  see  what  was  going  on 
outside,  and  longing  for  the  signal  that  was  so 
slow  in  coming.  When,  at  last,  it  did  come,  she 
bounded  forward,  and  stood  impatiently  beside 
the  horse,  while  Annesley  gathered  up  the  reins 
and  sprang  into  the  saddle.  He  bent  down  and 
lifted  her  from  the  ground  to  a  seat  before  him, 
made  her  kiss  her  hand  to  the  governess,  and 
they  were  off,  the  child's  short  dress  fluttering 
in  the  evening  breeze  as  they  cantered  down  the 
road  and  out  of  sight. 

Katharine  watched  them,  with  a  strange  sort 
of  yearning  in  her  eyes.  Perhaps  she  was  think- 
ing how  pleasant  it  would  be  to  ride  down  that 
road,  under  its  crimson  and  golden  woods,  in  the 
lovely  autumn  dusk,  with  a  crescent  moon  faintly 
gleaming  above  the  still  tinted  west,  and  such 
a  stately  and  gallant  escort  by  her  side  as  he 
who  had  just  passed  from  her  sight.  Perhaps 
she  thought  of  those  to  whom  such  pleasure  was 
common,  and — even  the  best-disciplined  of  UB 
will  sometimes  do  such  things — contrasted  her 
own  life  with  theirs.  Perhaps  she  remembered 
that  scene  of  last  Veek,  to  which  she  had  allud- 
ed— the  two  elegant  ladies  in  their  sweeping 
habits  and  waving  plumes,  the  curvetting  horses, 
the  flashing  bits  and  jewelled  whips,  the  young 


OUT   OF   THE   DUSK. 


cavalier,  and  the  golden  sunshine  streaming  ove 

nil,  while  she  plodded  by  in  the  dust  and  shadow 

Perhaps  she  wondered  if  this  dust  and  shadow 

were  henceforth  to  be  her  portion ;  or  perhap 

she  thought  of  a  time  when  the  sunshine  ha 

slept  on  her  path  too,  when  kind  eyes  and  lovin 

tones  had  followed  her,  when  life  had  seemed  fo 

a  short  while  the  fair  and  pleasant  thing  whic 

it  never  seems  to  any  long,  when  a  young  gir 

who  bore  her  name  had  smiled  and  talked  anc 

jested  beneath  the  waving  palms  of  a  distan 

tropic  island,  and  when — but  her  thoughts  wen 

no  further  than  this.     It  was  only  Mrs.  Marks' 

governess  who  turned  abruptly  from  the  gate 

and,  with  a  resolute   compression  of  the  lips 

that  brought  lines  too  hard  for  so  young  a  face 

began  the  same  pacing  up  and  down  the  walk 

that  had  been  interrupted  half  an  hour  before 

It  was  not  long  before  she  was  interrupted  again 

for  Mr.  Annesley  did  not  give  Katy  a  very  ex 

tended   ride.      Ilderim  was   brought  up  before 

the  garden-gate  once  more,  and  Katy,  flushed 

smiling,  yet  regretful,  lowered  to  the  ground 

Then   Mr.  Annesley  sprang  off  also;   but  this 

time  he  did  not  fasten  his  horse  to   the  iron 

staple  so  conveniently  placed  in  a  large  elm-tree 

near  by.     Probably  something  in  Katharine's 

face  warned   him   not   to  do  so — he  was  very 

quickly  sensitive  to   any  change  in    that  face. 

At  all  events,  he  kept  the  rein  over  his  arm, 

and,  uncovering   as   he   advanced,   spoke,  half 

apologetically : 

"  I  am  going  in  a  moment,  Miss  Tresham, 
but — you  know  I  told  you  I  had  a  favor  to  ask 
of  you.  The  evening  is  so  lovely,  I  am  sure  you 
will  not  mind  a  few  minutes  longer  in  the  open 
air." 

"  Yes,  the  evening  is  very  lovely,  but  rather 
cool,"  answered  Katharine,  in  a  tone  which  was 
cool  also ;  "  and  I  cannot  promise  to  make  it 
more  than  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  Annesley,  for  Mrs. 
Marks  expects  me  to  see  that  the  children  come 
In  before  nightfall." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  the  chil- 
dren's nurse  as  well  as  their  governess,"  he 
said,  somewhat  hastily. 

"  There  you  are  right,"  she  answered,  quiet- 
ly. "  But  they  don't  obey  their  nurse  very  well, 
and  they  do  obey  me.  So  this  duty  has  de- 
volved upon  me — and  it  is  not  a  very  irksome 
one.  I  wish  I  had  none  that  pressed  more  hea- 
vily." 

The  young  man  leaned  forward  over  the 
tlosed  gate  which  divided  them. 

"  And  I  wish  to  Heaven,"  he  said,  passionate- 


ly, "that  I  could  make  your  life  what  it  should 
be!" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly. 
"  Now,  that  is  very  kind,  but  not  very  wise. 
There  is  One  who  knows  what  is  best  for  us ; 
and  you  might  spoil  the  whole  aim  and  inten- 
tion of  my  life,  if  you  went  to  work  to  improve 
it  after  your  own  device.  Really,  I  am  very 
well  content  with  it  as  it  is.  You  must  not  let 
that  foolish  speech  make  you  think  otherwise  " 

"  Content !  How  can  you  possibly  be  con- 
tent with  such  occupation,  such  surroundings, 
such  compan — " 

"  Hush  ! "  she  said,  quickly ;  for  several  small 
listeners  had  grown  tired  of  their  game,  and  drawn 
near.  "It  is  all  very  pleasant  —  sometimes  I 
think  too  pleasant,  to  last  long.  But  you  said 
you  had  something  you  wished  to  ask  me." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  I  wish  to  ask  you 
— well,  for  one  thing,  why  you  will  never  let  me 
do  any  thing  to  make  your  life  more  endura- 
ble ?  " 

"  You  do  a  great  deal,"  she  replied,  a  sudden 
cordial  light  springing  into  her  eyes  and  making 
them  beautiful.  "  You  do  more  than  any  one 
has  ever  done  before  in — oh,  such  a  long  time ! 
Do  you  think  I  am  ungrateful  for  the  books  and 
papers,  the  flowers  and  music  that  brighten  my 
life  so  much  ?  Can  you  imagine  I  do  not  see 
how  much  more  generous  you  would  be  if  I 
could  allow  it  ?  Surely,  Mr.  Annesley,  you  do 
not  think  that  I  have  so  many  friends,  or  receive 
so  much  kindness,  but  that  I  feel  this  in  my 
heart  of  hearts." 

"  Then  grant  me  one  favor,"  he  said,  im- 
julsively.  "  Promise  to  give  me  one  pleasure, 
which  will  be  the  greatest  I  have  ever  known." 

"  I  cannot  promise  in  the  dark.  What  is 
t?" 

"  It  is  not  much — to  you,  that  is.  Only  that 
TOU  honor  Ilderim  by  riding  him." 

Katharine  drew  back  a  step  in  her  surprise. 
"  Mr.  Aunesley,  you  are  surely  jesting !     Ride 
Ilderim ! " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  a  desperate  attempt 
at  nonchalance  ;  "  ride  Ilderim — why  not  ?  You 
annot  say  you  would  not  like  it ;  and  I  only 
lought  him  because  I  thought  how  well  he  would 
uit  you.  And — Miss  Tresham,  pray  do  not  re- 
use me  this  my  first  request ! " 

Katharine  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Not 
iat  she  had  a  thought  of  yielding  to  any  thing 
o  inadmissible  as  what  he  asked ;  but  simply 
ecause  she  was  touched  by  the  desire  to  give 
er  pleasure,  which  was  so  delicately  veiled 


5 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"  How  kind  he  is  ! "  she  thought,  "  and  yet,  poor 
fellow,  how  foolish  ! "    Annesley,  who  had  be- 
gun to  feel  uncomfortable  at  i^er  long  silence 
was  certainly  relieved,  but  yet  more  surprised 
when  she  suddenly  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"  Thank  you  so  much,"  she  said.  "  You  are 
so  good — so  kind !  But,  then,  you  know  it  is 
impossible."  . 

The  action  was  only  one  of  frank  gratitude ; 
but  the  next  instant  she  was  sorry  for  having 
given  way  to  it.  Very  sorry  indeed,  when,  glan 
cing  up,  she  saw  that  a  carriage  had  approached 
unperceived  by  them,  and  was  passing  by,  while 
several  pairs  of  eyes  looked  curiously  from  the 
windows  at  this  way-side  scene.  Katharine 
drew  back  her  hand  hastily,  and  a  shying  move- 
ment of  Ilderim  made  Annesley  turn  at  the  same 
moment.  Thus  they  both  looked  full  at  the 
equipage,  which,  truth  to  tell,  was  rather  a 
strange  one  for  that  road,  at  that  hour. 

Not  that  the  equipage  in  itself  was  at  all 
remarkable  —  only  a  dusty  travelling-carriage, 
with  two  worn-out  horses,  a  cross-looking  driver, 
a  large  trunk  behind,  and  numerous  boxes  on 
the  driver's  seat  and  under  his  legs.  But  the 
fact  that  it  was  leaving  the  village  at  such  an 
hour,  that  the  road  was  a  retired  one,  only  lead- 
ing to  several  country-houses,  and  to  a  town 
distant  some  forty  miles,  and  that  the  faces 
which  looked  forth  from  it  were  totally  unknown, 
conspired  to  make  its  unexpected  advent  surpris- 
ing. Strangers  did  not  often  come  to  Tallahoma ; 
and  when  they  did,  it  was  generally  in  the  stage- 
coach, and  they  ordered  supper  at  the  "  Tallaho- 
ma  Hotel,"  and  went  to  bed  like  orderly  and  ordi- 
nary mortals.  These  travellers  plainly  intended 
to  do  neither ;  and  they  certainly  did  not  seem 
very  ordinary.  The  only  outside  passengers  were 
the  driver,  who,  as  before  mentioned,  looked  very 
cross,  and  a  small  spaniel,  who  looked  very  tired 
and  patient.  But  three  faces  were  gazing  from 
the  inside,  when  Katharine  with  haste  drew  back 
her  hand,  and  Annesley  turned  round.  The  first 
that  attracted  their  notice  was  one  which  would 
have  claimed  attention  anywhere,  og  from  any- 
body. A  hollow,  attenuated  face,  with  features 
BO  finely  marked  that  they  stood  out  like  pure 
Greek  chiselling,  and  eyes  so  large  and  dark  that 
they  seemed  shedding  a  flood  of  light  over  every 
thing  on  which  they  rested,  was  partially  revealed 
under  a  black  bonnet  and  heavy  crape  veil,  and 
showed  itself  for  a  minute  only — sinking  back 
out  of  sight  immediately.  The  two  others  kept 
their  positions,  and  were  hardly  less  remarkable 
— hardly  less  remarkable,  that  is,  to  Tailahoma 


sight ;  for  one  was  a  beautiful  bold-eyed  boy 
who  was  staring  with  all  his  might,  and  hugging 
closely  a  small  monkey;  the  other  a  woman 
whom  Katharine  at  once  recognized  as  a  French 
bonne,  in  the  usual  dress  of  her  class.  It  was  a 
very  brief  gaze  that  the  two  parties  interchanged 
as  the  carriage  moved  by,  and  rumbled  away  in 
the  dusk.  As  it  disappeared,  the  eager  little 
voices  of  the  children  standing  around  Katharine 
found  utterance. 

"  0  Miss  Tresham,  did  you  see  the  monkey?  " 
"  Miss  Tresham,  did  you  see  the  little  boy  ?  " 
"  Miss  Tresham,  wasn't  that  a  pretty  lady  ?  " 
"  Miss  Tresham,  how  funny  the  little  dog 
looked ! " 

"  Dog  !  you're  crazy !     It  was  a  monkey  ! " 
"  It  wasn't  no  such  thing  !     It  was  a  dog  ! 
Didn't  I  see  it  ?  " 

"  And  didn't  I  see  the  monkey  ?     Silly  ! " 
"  You're  a  silly  yourself,  sir  !     Miss  Tresham, 
wasn't  it  a  dog  ?  " 

"  Hush,  children,"  said  Miss  Tresham,  in  her 
governess  tone.  "  There  were  a  dog  and  mon- 
key both."  Then  she  turned  to  Annesley. 
"  Who  can  they  possibly  be  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  have  no  idea. 
Strangers,  evidently ;  but  where  they  can  be 
coming  from,  or  where  going,  at  this  hour,  I 
can't  tell." 

"  And  such  strangers  !  They  would  not  be 
extraordinary  objects  on  a  French  or  Italian  high- 
way ;  but  in  this  remote  corner  of  the  world, 
they  are  rather  astonishing.  Don't  you  think 

BO?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  rather  astonishing." 

But  it  was  obvious  that  they  had  made  but  a 
momentary  impression  on  him,  for  he  turned  at 
once  to  the  subject  that  had  been  interrupted  by 

heir  appearance.  "  Miss  Tresham,  seriously,  is 
there  any  reason  why  you  should  not  give  me 

his  great  pleasure  ?  " 

"  There  are  many  reasons,  Mr.  Annesley,"  an- 
swered Miss  Tresham,  gravely.  "  But  I  have 
only  time  to  give  you  one  at  present,  and  with 

;hat  you  must  be  content — by  doing  as  you  wish, 

'.  should  make  myself  the  object  of  countless 
remarks  ;  and  I  might  probably  in  the  end  lose 
my  situation.  That  would  be  paying  rather 

learly  for  a  ride,  even  on  Ilderim.  Thank  you 
again,  though ;  and  now,  good-by." 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  in  the  waning 

ight  with  a  passioo  of  resolve  in  his  eyes.  "You 
will  not  think  of  this  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  will 
ict  even  give  me  time  to  try  and  change  youi 

csolution  ?  " 


MR.  WARWICK'S   GHOST. 


"*  1  «,m  sorry  to  say  that  I  can  do  neither," 
she  answered,  a  little  coldly.  "  It  is  late,  and  I 
must  really  go — and  so  ought  you,  for  that  mat- 
ter, since  Annesdale  is  five  miles  off.  Here  !  let 
me  return  your  '  Tennyson.'  I  have  enjoyed  it 
so  much." 

He  received  the  volume,  and  thrust  it  care- 
lessly into  his  pocket ;  then,  while  drawing  on 
his  gloves,  he  said  : 

"  I  have  received  a  packet  of  new  books  to- 
day ;  may  I  bring  you  some,  when  I  come  again  ? 
There  are  one  or  two  I  am  sure  you  will  like." 

"  Then  bring  me  one  or  two — 'not  more,"  she 
said,  laughing.  "  Poor  Mrs.  Marks  must  not  be 
frightened  by  another  such  imposing  sight  as 
those  dozen  volumes  you  sent  the  other  day. 
Bring  some  poetry,  please.  Formerly  I  did  not 
care  much  for  poetry ;  now  I  like  it — I  suppose 
because  my  life  is  so  very  prosaic.  Once  more, 
good-by." 

"  Good-by,"  he  echoed. 

He  vaulted  on  Ilderim,  rode  away  a  few  steps 
wheeled  suddenly,  came  back,  and  leaned  out  of 
his  saddle  toward  the  gate  where  Katharine  was 
still  standing. 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  that 
I  am  not  at  all  discouraged.  You  may  yet  ride 
Ilderim,  and  I  may  yet  thank  you  for  my  first  de- 
nial." 

With  this,  and  before  she  could  answer,  he 
was  gone. 


CHAPTER  II. 
MR.  WARWICK'S  GHOST. 

Miss  TRESHAM  remained  standing  in  the  place 
where  Mr.  Annesley  had  left  her,  for  a  minute  or 
two,  gazing  with  slightly-knitted  brows  after  his 
vanishing  figure ;  then  she  turned,  and  told  the 
children  that  it  was  time  to  go  in. 

"  It  is  cold,"  she  said,  with  a  little  shiver ; 
"  and  I  don't  think  there  is  any  use  in  looking 
for  your  father.  Since  he  has  not  come  already, 
he  is  not  likely  to  be  here  for  an  hour  yet." 

"  We'll  have  to  wait  a  long  time  for  supper, 
then,"  remarked  one  small  murmurer ;  but  that 
was  all. 

The  legion  knew  better  than  to  offer  any 
open  signs  of  disobedience  to  their  chief;  and, 
although  discontent  was  rife  among  them,  they 
followed  her  to  the  house. 

A  flight  of  steps  led  from  a  side-piazza  down 
to  the  garden,  and  across  this  piazza  a  flood  of 


cheerful  light  was  already  streaming  from  two 
windows  and  a  glass  door  which  opened  upon  it. 

"  Why,  papa's  here  already ! "  cried  Katy, 
who  had  bounded  up  the  steps  before  any  one 
else  and  taken  an  observation  through  the  win- 
dow. "Papa's  here  already!  Where  did  he 
come  from  ?  " 

Then  the  door  flew  open  with  a  sudden  burst 
and  the  merry  little  crowd  rushed  pell-mell  into 
the  room. 

A  very  pleasant  room  it  was,  with  a  spark- 
ling, light-wood  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  a  well- 
set  table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor — a  room 
abounding  in  comfort  but  lacking  in  luxury,  and 
with  little  or  no  evidence  of  what  are  called  re- 
fined tastes.  That  is,  there  were  few  books  visi- 
ble, and  they  were  chiefly  of  an  unused  kind.  No 
pictures  excepting  some  ugly  daubs  supposed  to 
be  family  portraits,  and  not  even  a  vase  to  hold 
the  royal  flowers  blooming  by  in  such  prodigal 
profusion.  The  aspect  of  the  place  proclaimed 
substantial  ease,  nothing  more.  There  were 
comfortable  chairs,  and  one  or  two  chintz- 
cushioned  couches  ;  there  were  various  tables, 
with  carved  legs  and  bright-red  covers ;  there 
was  a  glowering  mahogany  sideboard,  there 
was  a  pretty  little  work-stand  that  stood  in  a 
niche  near  the  fireplace,  and  there  was  a  clock 
on  the  mantel  that  told  the  quarters  with  re- 
morseless exactitude.  But  the  proprietors  of 
the  tpartment  were  plain  people,  of  no  fashion* 
able  pretension,  and  still  less  fashionable  ambi- 
tion— people  who  were  "  in  business,"  and  were 
not  ashamed  of  the  fact ;  who  were  well-to-do  in 
the  world  now,  but  who  had  known  a  hard  strug- 
gle before  becoming  so ;  who  were  of  the  best 
morals,  but  of  moderate  culture ;  and  who,  while 
they  were  always  glad  of  social  advancement  and 
social  recognition,  never  went  out  of  their  way 
to  seek  either — people,  in  short,  who  were  types 
of  the  best  portion  of  the  middle  class — the  por- 
tion that  is  neither  hopelessly  vulgar  nor  absurd- 
ly aspiring — and  who,  in  consequence  of  sturdily 
respecting  their  own  dignity,  were  universally 
respected  by  those  above  as  by  those  below 
them  on  Fortune's  ladder. 

The  head  of  the  household,  Richard  Marks, 
had  begun  life  as  a  very  small  tradesman,  and 
it  may  readily  be  conceived  that  the  man  who 
sold  coffee  by  the  pound,  and  calico  by  the  yard, 
across  a  village  counter,  was  scarcely  able  to 
command,  or  even  hope  for,  any  very  exalted 
social  elevation.  Yet  social  elevation  of  a  cer- 
tain sort  came  with  time — as  it  comes  to  all  men 
who  trust  less  to  fortune  than  to  their  own  en 


8 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


deavor.  To  his  diligence  and  energy,  and  to  the 
scrupulous  honesty  which  made  all  men  recognize 
his  word  to  be  as  good  as  his  bond,  Richard 
Marks  owed  at  last  an  assured  competency  and 
an  honorable,  even  an  enviable,  position  among 
his  fellow-townsmen.  To  these  things  he  owed 
it  that  the  most  aristocratic  gentlemen  of  his 
native  county  were  proud  to  hold  out  the  hand 
of  friendship,  not  patronage,  to  him ;  and  that, 
after  many  years  of  hard  labor,  he  was  now  rest- 
ing on  his  oars  as  cashier  and  virtual  controller 
of  the  one  bank  which  did  all  the  monetary  busi- 
ness of  Lagrange  County. 

His  wife,  although  the  daughter  of  a  gentle- 
man— if  a  spendthrift  insolvent  deserves  the 
name — had  sunk  so  easily  to  the  social  level  of 
her  husband  that  those  among  her  friends  and 
acquaintances  who  still  spoke  of  her  as  "  Bessie 
Warwick,"  were  forced  to  explain  the  obvious 
fact  as  best  they  could. 

"She  never  had  much  sense,"  they  would 
say,  "  and  certainly  no  great  amount  of  refine- 
ment— though  she  was  so  pretty — pretty  in  a 
certain  style,  that  is  ;  and  then  she  inherited  low 
tastes,  no  doubt.  Her  mother  was  shockingly 
common,  if  you  remember.  It  was  his  marriage 
that  ruined  Arnold  Warwick — at  least  his  friends 
always  said  so." 

But,  notwithstanding  this  unflattering  opin- 
ion, Mrs.  Marks  certainly  proved  that  she  had 
found  her  right  place  in  the  world  as  helper  of  a 
good  man's  upward  career.  The  best  of  wives 
and  mothers — yet,  like  most  best  of  wives  and 
mothers,  apt  at  times  to  become  a  little  tire- 
some, especially  if  she  once  began  the  circum- 
stantial history  of  Dick's  dreadful  accident  when 
he  fell  and  broke  his  collar-bone,  or  how  little 
Katy  whooped  through  an  entire  summer  with 
whooping-cough.  But  a  sensible  and  kind- 
hearted  woman  with  all  that ;  one  of  the  large 
class  of  women  of  whom  the  world  knows  little, 
and  hears  nothing;  who  are  not  remarkable 
either  for  beauty  or  mental  capacity ;  but  who 
fill  their  own  position  in  the  world  better  than 
a  Lady  Blessington  or  a  Madame  de  Stae'l  could 
do  it  for  them;  who  live  a  life  all  pure  and 
blameless  in  the  domestic  relations,  and  who  at 
.ast  go  down  to  the  grave  leaving  in  the  hearts 
of  their  children  a  good  example  and  a  fragrant 
memory. 

In  her  own  way,  too,  Mrs.  Marks  was  a  good 
business-woman;  and  the  only  time  in  her  life 
that  she  had  acted  without  due  foresight  and 
deliberation  was  in  the  matter  of  engaging  a 
governess  for  her  children.  She  had  accom- 


panied her  husband  on  a  short  business-visit  to 
Charleston  some  two  years  previous  to  this 
autumn  evening,  and  while  there  met  Katharine 
Tresham. 

The  young  foreigner,  who  had  but  lately  land- 
ed, was  entirely  alone  in  the  strange  city;  and 
something  in  her  refined,  ladylike  appearance, 
together  with  her  deep-mourning  dress,  touched 
the  kind  heart  of  the  elder  woman.  They  were 
boarders  in  the  same  house,  and,  when  she 
heard  that  Katharine  was  anxious  to  procure  a 
situation  as  teacher ;  that  she  could  give  good 
English  and  West-Indian  references,  and  that 
she  would  much  prefer  the  country  to  any  city  as 
a  residence,  Mrs.  Marks's  mind  was  at  once  made 
up.  Shft  did  not  even  wait  to  consult  her  hus- 
band ;  she  made  her  an  offer  on  the  spot,  and  it 
was  gratefully  accepted. 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,  I  could  not  help  it !  "  she 
afterward  humbly  confided  to  her  lord.  "  It 
seemed  so  pitiful  to  see  such  a  pretty  young 
thing  entirely  alone ;  and  then,  you  know,  the 
children  learn  nothing  at  all  at  school.  You 
said  yourself  that  Mr.  Watson  was  good  for 
nothing  but  to  drink  whiskey  and  pay  attention 
to  Lucy  Smith." 

"  I  did  say  so,"  Mr.  Marks  replied,  "  but  are 
you  sure,  Bessie,  that  your  new  friend  will  be 
worth  much  more  ?  I  don't  mean,  of  course, 
that  she  will  drink  whiskey  or  pay  attention  to 
Lucy  Smith  ;  but,  after  all,  there  may  be  worse 
things  than  that.  What  does  she  engage  to 
teach  the  children,  and  what  are  her  terms  ?  " 

"She  engages  to  teach  the  children — well, 
every  thing  that  is  usually  taught,  I  suppose," 
answered  Mrs.  Marks,  a  little  vaguely;  "and, 
as  to  her  terms,  she  does  not  seem  to  know  very 
much  about  them  herself.  She  taught  one  year 
in  England,  and  received  forty  pounds — that  is 
all  she  knows." 

"  Why,  that  is  a  little  less  than  two  hundred 
dollars,"  said  Mr.  Marks,  opening  his  honest 
eyes.  "  Teachers  must  be  plenty  over  there  at 
that  rate.  Poor  thing !  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll 
do,  Bessie.  She  is  a  nice-looking  girl,  and 
there'll  be  no  harm  in  trying  her.  We  will 
ofler  her  four  hundred  dollars,  and  take  her  for 
one  year." 

So  it  was  settled ;  and  so  Katharine  Tresham 
came  to  Lagrange. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  her  employers  re- 
quested her  to  remain,  and  Mr.  Marks  voluntarily 
raised  her  salary.  The  children  had  improved 
so  rapidly  that  Mr.  Watson  would  not  have 
recognized  his  quondam  pupils  ;  and  the  bright, 


MR.  WARWICK'S   GHOST. 


9 


even  temper  of  the  young  governess  made  her 
presence  in  the  house  a  kind  of  moral  sunshine. 
Altogether,  as  Mrs.  Marks  was  accustomed  to 
declare,  she  could  not  have  been  so  exactly 
suited  by  anybody  else  in  the  world ;  and  she 
would  have  had  no  possible  fault  to  find  with 
Miss  Tresham  if — there  is  an  if  to  every  thing 
earthly — she  had  been  an  orthodox  member  of 
that  religious  denomination  to  which  Mrs.  Marks 
herself  belonged.  But,  dreadful  to  relate,  Miss 
Tresham  was  that  strange  off-shoot  of  iniquity, 
in  the  eyes  of  Tallahoma,  a  blind  and  bigoted 
Papist.  She  had  given  Mrs.  Marks  fair  warning 
of  that  fact  before  their  engagement  was  con- 
cluded. 

"There  is  one  thing  I  must  mention,"  she 
said.  "I  am  a  Catholic.  I  know  that  most 
Protestants  are  very  much  prejudiced  against 
the  faith,  and  don't  care  to  admit  Catholics  into 
their  households.  If  this  is  the  case  with  your- 
self, we  will  not  say  any  thing  more  about  the 
proposed  engagement." 

But  Mrs.  Marks,  although  very  much  stag- 
gered by  the  information,  replied : 

"  My  dear,  I  don't  see  that  it  makes  any  dif- 
ference. You  will  be  uncomfortable,  I  am  afraid, 
for  there  is  no  Romish  church  in  Tallahoma; 
but,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I — I  suppose  we 
are  all  Christians." 

When  the  young  governess  followed  her  noisy 
charges  into  the  sitting-room,  a  pleasant-looking 
woman  glanced  up  and  smiled  from  her  seat  by 
the  work-table,  while  a  much  older  man,  with 
gray  hair  and  frank  blue  eyes,  gave  her  a  hearty 
greeting. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Tresham.  How  do  you 
and  the  little  ones  come  on  ? — Well,  Nelly,  can 
you  spell  '  ab,'  yet  ?  " 

"  Spell  it,  Nelly,  for  your  father,"  said  Miss 
Tresham,  smiling.  "She  knew  it  to-day,  sir; 
but  I  am  afraid  that  hanging  head  doesn't  say 
much  for  her  recollection  of  it  now." 

"  Speak  up,  little  woman,"  said  her  father, 
lifting  the  shame-faced  scholar  to  a  place  on  his 
knee.  "  Speak  up — and  I'll  give  you  a  six- 
pence." 

But  bashfulness  or  ignorance  continuing  to 
hold  the  little  woman's  tongue,  Jack  and  Katy, 
tempted  by  the  promise  of  the  sixpence,  burst 
out  with  the  spelling  of  the  word  desired,  and 
were  rewarded  by  being  informed  that  the  offer 
was  not  intended  for  irregular  claimants. 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  though,"  said  the 
indulgent  father,  seeing  the  disappointment  legi- 
ble on  their  faces.  "  Nelly  must  have  her  six- 


pence— but  another  shall  be  found  for  the  first 
one  who  brings  me  the  mail  from  your  Uncle 
John's  coat-pocket." 

"  Is  this  mail-day  ?  "  asked  Katharine,  look' 
ing  up.  "  Then  why  did  you  not  bring  it  your- 
self, sir  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  been  in  the  country  on  busi- 
ness, and  didn't  come  through  town  on  my  way 
home,"  answered  Mr.  Marks,  good-humoredly. 
"  I  wish  Warwick  would  come  along  !  I  want  my 
papers — and  I  e-xpect  you  want  your  letters,  Miss 
Kate." 

"  Letters  ! "  the  governess  repeated.  "  I 
thought  you  knew  that  I  never  receive  any  let- 
ters. There  is  nobody  that  I  care  to  hear  from. 
Indeed,  the  worst  luck  that  could  befall  me  would 
be  a  letter — unless  it  came  from  Father  Martin." 

Father  Martin  was  the  priest  of  Saxford,  a 
somewhat  larger  town  than  Tallahoma,  boasting 
a  small  Catholic  chapel,  to  which  she  went  occa- 
sionally for  ghostly  shriving — and  it  was  cer- 
tainly true  that  his  rare  letters  were  the  only 
ones  that  had  ever  come  to  Katharine  Tresham, 
since  she  first  set  foot  on  the  soil  of  America. 
Nor  did  she  ever  write  any  that  were  not  ad- 
dressed to  him.  She  seemed  to  have  severed 
every  link  that  bound  h£r  to  her  former  life, 
and,  save  in  a  few  general  particulars,  her  pres- 
ent friends  knew  no  more  of  that  life  than  if 
she  had  not  broken  their  bread  for  the  period  of 
two  years. 

"  John  is  very  late  to-night,"  said  Mrs.  Marks, 
glancing  up  at  the  clock,  as  if  it  was  its  fault  that 
the  waffles  were  burning  in  the  kitchen.  "I 
really  think  we  need  not  wait  for  him  any  longer. 
Some  troublesome  man  has  kept  him,  and  he  al- 
ways begs  me  not  to  wait. — Sara,  go  to  the  door 
and  tell  Judy  to  send  in  supper." 

Sara  obeyed  ;  and,  the  next  minute,  two  mu- 
latto boys  began  bringing  in  plates  of  biscuit  and 
waffles.  Then  came  some  broiled  partridges,  the 
tempting  odor  of  which  caused  Mr.  Marks  to  look 
round  with  interest. 

"  By  George  !  that  is  delightful  to  a  hungry 
man !  Where  did  you  get  such  fine  birds,  Bes- 
sie?" 

"  They  were  brought  this  morning,  with  Mr. 
Annesley's  compliments,"  answered  Mrs.  Marks, 
rising  and  going  to  the  head  of  the  table.  "  Sent 
to  me,  the  boy  said — you  have  forgotten  the 
cream,  Tom  —  but  I  expect  Miss  Katharine 
knows  more  about  them  than  I  do." 

Miss  Katharine  smiled  slightly,  but  without 
the  least  tincture  of  embarrassment.  "How 
could  I  possibly  know  about  them  ? "  she 


10 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


asked.  "  I  saw  Mr.  Annesley  this  afternoon — 
did  I  tell  you  that  he  gave  Katy  a  ride  ? — but 
I  assure  you  he  did  not  hint  that  even  one  of 
the  partridges  was  intended  for  me.  You  will 
spare  me  one,  though — won't  you,  Mr.  Marks  ?  " 

In  the  clatter  of  plates  and  knives  which  fol- 
lowed, a  step  crossing  the  piazza  outside  was  un- 
heard ;  and  when  the  door  suddenly  opened,  Katy 
was  the  first  one  to  observe  it.  She  sprang  for- 
ward with  a  cry  of  "  Uncle  John  1 " — a  cry  the 
eagerness  of  which  was  more  for  the  letters  in 
Uncle  John's  pocket,  and  the  promised  sixpence 
from  her  father,  than  for  the  every-day  presence 
of  Uncle  John  himself. 

The  new-comer  surrendered  the  letters  to  the 
quick  little  fingers  that  dived  at  once  into  his 
pocket,  watched  the  payment  of  the  sixpence, 
with  a  smile,  and  then  walked  to  the  fireplace 
and  sat  down,  while  Mrs.  Marks  sent  out  a  requi- 
sition for  hot  coffee. 

"  Never  mind  about  that,  Bessie,"  he  said,  in 
rather  a  tired  tone.  "  What  is  on  the  table  will 
do  well  enough.  I  only  want  to  get  a  little  warm 
before  moving  again — it  is  quite  cool  to-night." 

"  What  on  earth  made  you  so  late  ?  "  asked 
his  sister. 

"  Business,"  answe^d  Mr.  Warwick,  briefly. 
Then  he  sank  back  into  his  chair,  and  into 
silence. 

It  was  not  an  ordinary  face,  by  any  means, 
across  which  the  fire-light  played  so  fitfully — no 
more  an  ordinary  face  than  John  Warwick  was 
an  ordinary  man.  There  was  little  beauty  in  it ; 
and  that  little  was  more  the  beauty  of  expression 
than  of  feature ;  not  much  grace  of  outline  or 
delicacy  of  coloring.  But  there  was  force  of 
will  and  power  of  thought ;  there  was  a  keen 
habit  of  observation,  and  sometimes  there  was 
an  almost  womanly  gentleness — the  latter  not 
habitual  nor  often  to  be  seen,  but  coming  occa- 
sionally to  melt  the  eyes  and  soften  the  month, 
around  which  some  hard  lines  lay  dormant.  Take 
it  all  in  all,  a  face  so  full  of  moral  and  intellectual 
strength  that  the  wonder  grew  how  this  man  could 
possibly  be  brother  to  the  pretty  commonplace 
woman  who  sat  at  the  head  of  Richard  Marks's 
table.  Yet  her  brother  he  undoubtedly  was; 
and,  if  Mrs.  Marks  loved  her  husband  with  all 
her  heart,  she  certainly  reverenced  her  brother 
with  all  her  soul — for  in  him  all  the  gentleman- 
hood  of  the  father  stood  confessed,  without  the 
father's  weakness  or  the  father's  vice.  He  it 
was  who  had  raised  their  name  from  the  mire 
where  it  had  fallen,  and  given  it  once  more  an 
honorable  rank.  He  it  was  who  had  claimed  his 


birthright  of  social  position,  and  placed  his  foot, 
when  that  foot  was  yet  young,  upon  the  place  his 
father  had  forfeited.  Men  already  forgot  the 
poor  drunkard  who  had  ruined  others  as  well  as 
himself,  and  only  remembered  that  "  Mr.  War- 
wick is  decidedly  our  most  rising  lawyer."  In- 
deed, they  had  long  since  begun  to  be  very  proud 
of  him  in  Lagrange,  to  put  him  forward  on  all 
public  occasions,  and  prophesy  great  future  ad- 
vancement for  him. 

The  hot  coffee  came,  and  Mrs.  Marks  an- 
nounced its  arrival  to  her  brother ;  but  he  did 
not  move.  He  seemed,  indeed,  so  deeply  sunk 
in  thought  as  not  to  hear  her ;  and  it  was  Mr. 
Marks's  brisk  tones  that  roused  him  at  last. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Warwick,  that  you  sit 
there  staring  in  the  fire,  instead  of  coming  to 
supper  ?  I  hope  you  haven't  heard  bad  news  of 
any  kind  ?  " 

"  Bad  news !  "  repeated  Mr.  Warwick,  look- 
ing up  with  a  start.  "Why,  of  course  not. — 
Did  you  say  the  coffee  was  ready,  Bessie  ?  I  beg 
your  pardon,  but  I  did  not  hear  you." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke  and  came  to  the  table. 
The  light  thus  falling  for  the  first  time  upon  hia 
face,  some  change  there  attracted  the  attention 
even  of  the  children. 

"  Unky,  you've  got  a  bad  headache,  haven't 
you  ?  "  inquired  womanly  little  Sara,  by  whom  he 
sat  down. 

"  Unky,  Jack  says  you've  seen  a  ghost ! " 
cried  Katy,  with  her  mouth  full,  despite  an 
angry  "  You  hush  !  "  and  a  push  under  the  table 
from  Jack. 

And  Mrs.  Marks  herself  said,  "  What  is  the 
matter,  John  ?  You  look  pale." 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter,  excepting  that  I  have 
had  a  hard  day's  work,  and  am  tired,"  he  an- 
swered. Then,  catching  the  gaze  of  a  pair  of 
eyes  opposite  him,  he  added,  "  Do  I  look  so 
shockingly,  Miss  Tresbtam,  as  to  merit  all 
this  ?  " 

"  You  look  as  if  your  day's  work  had  been 
a  very  hard  one,"  said  Miss  Tresham.  "  That  is 
all,  I  think." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  his  sister,  doubtfully. 
"  John,  are  you  certain  that  is  all  ?  " 

"Not  quite,"  he  answered,  with  a  flitting 
smile.  "Jack  was  right  in  his  conjecture — I 
have  seen  a  ghost." 

"  A  ghost !  " 

"  A  ghost,  Bessie.  As  veritable  a  ghost  as 
ever  came  out  of  a  church-yard." 

"  My  dear  John,  please  recollect  that  I  don'l 
like  such  things  talked  of  before  the  children." 


PAULINE   MORTON. 


11 


"  Oh,  there  is  no  rawhead  and  bloody  bones 
b  this,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  glancing  round  at  the 
various  pairs  of  eyes  that  stared  at  him  from  over 
various  mugs  of  bread  and  milk.  "  The  ghost 
was  not  even  dressed  in  white,  Katy — what  do 
you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  wasn't  a  real  ghost,  then,"  said  Katy, 
breathlessly. 

"  Yes  it  was,  though. — Come,  Marks,  put 
down  your  paper,  and  guess  whose  ghost  I  saw 
this  afternoon." 

Mr.  Marks  laid  down  his  paper  as  requested ; 
but  confessed  himself  unable  to  imagine,  unless 
(with  a  sly  glance  at  the  children)  it  was  that 
of  old  Mrs.  Packham,  who  was  buried  about  a 
fortnight  before. 

But  Mr.  Warwick  shook  his  head.  It  was 
not  old  Mrs.  Packham,  he  said ;  but  somebody 
who  had  gone  away  at  least  twenty  years  be- 
fore ;  somebody  whom  they  all  had  known. 
And  then  he  told  his  sister  to  guess.  Where- 
upon, after  much  consideration,  Mrs.  Marks  in- 
quired if  it  could  possibly  have  been  that  wild 
son  of  old  Joe  Williams,  who  ran  away  ever  so 
many  years  ago,  and  had  never  been  heard  of 
since.  At  which  Mr.  Warwick  shook  his  head 
yet  more  impatiently. 

"  Then  tell  us  who  it  was,"  said  she. 

And  Katharine  was  struck  by  a  husky  tone 
in  the  lawyer's  voice,  as  he  answered — 

"  I  have  seen  Pauline  Morton  !  " 


CHAPTER    III. 

PATTLINK    MORTON. 

IF  Mr.  Warwick  had  announced  the  entire 
destruction  of  Tallahoma  and  all  its  inhabitants 
by  an  earthquake,  there  scarcely  could  have  en- 
sued a  more  astonished  pause  than  followed  the 
utterance  of  that  name.  For  the  full  space  of  a 
minute,  an  entire  silence  reigned  around  the 
table — a  silence  which  Mrs.  Marks  was,  of 
course,  the  first  to  break. 

"  You  have  seen  Pauline  Morton,  John  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  he,  laconically. 

"  Is  she  in  town  ?  " 

"  She  was  in  town,  or  else  I  could  not  have 
seen  her." 

"But,  bless  my  soul!"  cried  Mr.  Marks, 
"  where  did  she  come  from,  Warwick  ? — when 
did  you  see  her  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  came  from  Europe.     I  saw  her 


as  she  passed  through  Tallahoma,  this  afternoon, 
late." 

"  Well,  tell  us  all  about  it,"  cried  his  sister, 
a  little  impatient  at  these  brief  replies.  "  What 
is  the  use  of  doling  out  news  like  this  ?  Tell  us 
how  she.looked,  and  what  she  said,  and  where  she 
is  going,  and  what  she  means  by  coming  back 
here  ?  " 

"  Did  you  happen  to  see  a  travelling-carriage 
pass  here  about  dusk,  laden  with  trunks,  dogs, 
and  monkeys  ?  " 

At  this  question  there  rose  a  shout  from 
the  children — the  eager  little  pitchers,  whose 
eyes  and  ears  were  open  to  all  that  was  going 
on. 

"  We  did !  Uncle  John,  we  did !  And  a  pret- 
ty lady,  and  a  little  boy  in  it,  too." 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  John,  quietly.  "That 
was  Pauline  Morton,  on  her  way  to  Morton 
House." 

"  To  Morton  House  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Marks. 
"  Then  Shields,  at  least,  must  have  known  that 
she  was  coming." 

Again  Mr.  Warwick  shook  his  head.  "No. 
Shields  was  in  my  office  this  morning  about  that 
business  of  a  trespass  on  the  land ;  and  I  will 
answer  for  it  that  he  had  as  little  idea  of  seeing 
the  owner  of  the  land  as  you  or  I  might  have 
had.  Besides,  she  told  me  that  she  had  not  an- 
nounced her  coming  to  any  one." 

"And  yet  you  say  she  went  to  Morton 
House  ?  " 

"Straight  to  Morton  House. — Heaven  help 
poor  Shields's  brain  this  night ! " 

"  Surely  you  must  have  mistaken,"  urged  Mr. 
Marks.  "  Surely  she  went  to  Annesdale — her 
own  first  cousin's,  you  know." 

Mr.  Warwick  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I 
should  think  you  would  remember  how  little 
love  there  was  between  her  and  her  first  cousin, 
of  old." 

"  I  remember,"  cried  Mrs.  Marks,  "  and  I  am 
sxire  that  Pauline  Morton  would  never  go  unin- 
vited to  Mrs.  Annesley's  house.  But  oh,  John, 
she  could  not  have  gone  to  Morton  House  to  stay 
to-night ! — why,  think  of  those  beds  that  nobody 
has  slept  in  for  twenty  years ! " 

"  Twenty  years  or  not,  she  meant  to  do  it ; 
and  I  don't  think  there's  a  doubt  but  that  she 
has  done  it.  Twenty  years !  Can  it  be  really 
twenty  years  since  she  went  away,  Bessie  ?  " 

"  Twenty  years  this  past  summer,"  said  Mrs. 
Marks,  decidedly.  "  I  remember  the  very  day. 
Did  her  brother  come  back,  John  ? — and  surely 
her  husband  is  with  her?" 


12 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


**  Iler  orother,  she  tells  me,  is  dead.  She  did 
oot  mention  her  husband;  but  I  judge  that  she 
is  a  widow." 

"And  she  came  alone?" 

"With  the  exception  of  a  child  and  a  ser- 
vant, quite  alone." 

"  Her  brother  dead  I "  repeated  Mr.  Marks, 
whose  somewhat  slow  ears  this  last  item  had 
just  reached.  "There  must  be  some  mistake 
about  that,  John — you  must  have  misunderstood 
her,  or  his  death  has  happened  very  lately.  It 
is  not  more  than  a  few  weeks  since  Shields 
showed  me  a  letter  he  had  just  received  from 
him." 

"  I  only  know  that  she  is  in  deep  mourning," 
Mr.  Warwick  answered;  "and  that,  when  I 
glanced  at  her  dress,  she  said — or,  if  she  didn't 
say,  she  intimated — that  it  was  for  her  brother 
she  was  wearing  it." 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  said  Mr.  Marks,  reflect- 
ively. "  He  must  have  dropped  off  like  his  Uncle 
Paul ;  for  all  the  rest  of  the  Mortons  that  ever 
I  heard  of  were  very  long-lived  people.  She  did 
not  mention  his  complaint,  did  she  ?  " 

"No.  She  said  very  little — in  fact,  I  saw 
her  for  a  few  minutes  only." 

"But  her  looks,  John!"  cried  Mrs.  Marks, 
with  a  woman's  curiosity  on  this  important  sub- 
ject. "  Is  she  as  handsome  as  ever  ?  " 

"  How  do  most  women  look,  Bessie,  when 
a  gap  of  twenty  years  separates  them  from 
youth  ?  " 

"  Why,  rather  the  worse  for  wear,"  answered 
Mrs.  Marks,  with  a  glance  toward  her  own  face, 
as  reflected  in  the  burnished  coffee-pot.  "  But 
I  cannot  imagine  Pauline  Morton  any  less  beau- 
tiful than  when  I  saw  her  last." 

"  You  had  better  not  see  her  again,  then." 

"  Has  she  changed  so  dreadfully  ?  " 

"  She  is  the  wreck — the  ghost,  as  I  told  the 
children — of  her  former  self." 

"Dear,  dear!  to  think  of  it!  But  she  has 
been  married,  has  she  not  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  told  you  she  had  a  child  with 
her." 

"  And  whom  did  she  marry  ?  You  know  there 
were  all  sorts  of  reports  at  the  time — people  said 
she  had  married  a  count,  or  some  such  person." 

"  Which  was  as  true  as  reports  generally  are. 
Pauline  Morton  has  come  back  as  Mrs.  Gordon." 

"Mrs.  what?" 

"  Gordon.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  name  be- 
fore— in  connection  with  her,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Never ! "  cried  Mrs.  Marks,  with  a  decision 
arhich  rather  surprised  the  governess,  sitting  by 


in  profound  ignorance  of  the  subject  umlet  dis 
cussion.  "  I  heard  that  she  had  married  some 
nobleman,  and  that  she  lived  in  Europe  in  grand 
style ;  and — and — for  her  to  come  back  like  this, 
to  a  place  she  always  hated !  Oh,  John,  I  don't 
believe  it ! " 

"That's  just  as  you  please,"  Mr.  Warwick 
answered,  rising  and  walking  to  the  fire.  "  1 
assure  you,  I  have  the  name  on  her  own  author- 
ity ;  and,  as  for  those  ridiculous  stories  of  counts 
and  the  like,  of  course  no  sensible  person  ever 
credited  them.  I  remember  hearing  that  she 
had  married  an  officer  in  the  English  army ;  and, 
no  doubt,  this  is,  or  was,  the  man. — Miss  Tresh- 
am,  did  you  see  the  carriage  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  the  lady  also,"  Katharine  an- 
swered. "  I  had  only  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  but 
it  struck  me  very  much.  Does  she  belong  to  the 
Morton  House  where  the  children  and  I  go  to 
walk  almost  every  evening  ?  " 

"Morton  House  belongs  to  her,"  Mr.  Marks 
answered,  dryly.  "  I  am  afraid,  if  she  has  come 
back  for  good,  your  walks  are  at  an  end,  Miss 
Kate." 

"  Oh ! "  cried  the  children,  in  chorus.  "  Can't 
we  go  to  Morton  House  any  more,  and  make 
Pouto  chase  rabbits  in  the  garden  ?  Oh,  papa, 
why  not  ?  " 

"Don't  you  hear  why  not?"  asked  Mrs. 
Marks,  a  little  sharply — "  don't  you  hear  that 
the  person  who  owns  Morton  House  has  come 
back  to  live  in  it  ?  Now  hush — or  I  will  call  Letty 
and  send  you  straight  to  bed ! — John,  dear,  you 
haven't  told  us  yet  where  you  met — Mrs.  Gor- 
don." 

"Haven't  I?"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  a  little 
•wearily — he  was  evidently  tired  of  the  subject 
that  was  still  so  absorbing  to  his  sister.  "  Well, 
it  is  not  much  to  tell,  Bessie.  I  left  my  office 
at  dusk,  this  evening,  and  was  on  my  way  to  the 
post-office  to  get  the  mail,  when  the  carriage  of 
which  I  spoke  came  down  the  street.  I  glanced 
at  it  a  little  curiously,  wondering  where  it  was 
going  at  that  time  of  day,  when  a  face,  that  I 
should  have  recognized  among  a  thousand,  looked 
out,  and  made  a  sign  to  the  driver  to  stop.  Be- 
fore I  knew  what  I  was  about,  I  was  shaking 
hands  with  Pauline  Morton." 

He  paused,  with  a  half  smile  at  the  expression 
of  eager  interest  on  his  sister's  face;  but,  not- 
withstanding the  smile,  more  than  one  of  his 
hearers  notice4  that  it  cost  him  an  effort  to  re- 
sume. 

"  The  first  thing  I  remember  was  her  saying, 
'  How  changed  you  are  1  And  I  looked  at  her, 


PAULINE   MORTON. 


13 


»nd  answered,  'I  am  sure  I  cannot  be  more 
thanged  than  you  are.' " 

"  Why,  John ! "  cried  Mrs.  Marks,  reproach- 
fully. 

"  You  think  that  was  rather  plain  speaking  ? 
I  thought  so  myself  when  it  was  too  late  to  recall 
the  words.  But  she  did  not  seem  offended  by  my 
candor.  She  only  smiled  a  little,  and  said,  '  Yes, 
I  am  very  much  changed — you  will  believe  that 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  come  back  to  Morton 
to  live.'  I  don't  know  what  I  said — something 
about  my  surprise,  probably  ;  for  I  was  sur- 
prised, as  you  may  well  imagine — but  she  re- 
peate'd  the  statement,  and  then,  noticing  that  I 
looked  at  her  black  dress,  she  added :  '  My  poor 
brother ! — you  see  I  am  all  alone  in  the  world.' 
'  Excepting,'  said  I,  glancing  at  the  child  oppo- 
site. '  Yes,'  she  answered,  quietly,  '  excepting 
him.'  Then  she  told  him  to  shake  hands  with 
one  of  his  mother's  old  friends ;  and  the  boy,  who 
is  a  splendid-looking  little  fellow,  held  out  his 
hand  at  once,  and  spoke  to  me — no  hanging  of 
the  head,  and  putting  the  finger  in  the  mouth, 
Dick.  After  a  few  more  words,  his  mother  said 
they  must  go  on,  as  she  wished  to  reach  Morton 
House  before  night.  So  she  held  out  her  hand, 
saying  she  would  be  glad  to  see  me ;  and  you  will 
be  shocked  to  hear,  Bessie,  that,  in  responding 
to  the  invitation,  I  called  her  Miss  Morton." 

"  Good  gracious  !  " 

"  It  was  very  thoughtless,  and,  of  course,  I 
began  a  hasty  apology,  being  more  annoyed  at 
my  awkward  mistake  from  perceiving  the  effect 
which  it  produced  upon  her.  First  she  flushed, 
and  then  she  turned  so  pale  that  for  a  minute  I 
thought  she  was  going  to  faint.  But  she  only 
gasped  for  breath  a  little,  and  cut  short  my  apol- 
ogy by  saying :  '  There  is  nothing  to  excuse.  I 
am  very  foolish  ;  but  it  has  been  a  long  time 
since  I  heard  that  name,  and  it  brought  back 
so  many  recollections — just  here.  I  am  Mrs. 
Gordon  now.'  Then  she  drove  off.  And  now 
that  you  have  heard  all  that  I  know  myself, 
Bessie,  I  hope  you  have  no  objection  to  my  going 
out  on  the  piazza  to  smoke  a  cigar." 

Mrs.  Marks  would  willingly  have  detained 
him  for  the  purpose  of  further  questioning ;  but 
she  had  an  instinct  that  it  would  be  useless.  So 
she  only  watched  him  as  he  left  the  room,  and 
then  turned  to  her  husband. 

"  You  laughed  at  me  several  years  ago,  Rich- 
ard, when  I  said  that  I  did  not  believe  John 
would  ever  forget  Pauline  Morton.  Pray  what 
do  you  say  now  ?  " 

"  Why,  exactly  what  I  said  then,"  answered 
2 


Mr.  Marks,  looking  up  from  the  paper  which  he 
thought  he  should  never  be  left  to  read  in  peace. 
''  I  say  that  Warwick  is  much  too  sensible  a  man 
to  be  hankering  after  a  woman  he  was  in  love 
with  more  than  twenty  years  ago ;  and  that — " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  hush  a  moment ! — Miss  Tresh- 
am,  will  you  touch  the  bell  for  Letty  ? — Now. 
children,  say  good-night  to  your  father,  and  go 
to  bed ;  it  is  after  eight  o'clock." 

The  children  were  evidently  well  drilled. 
They  were  dying  to  hear  what  was  next  to  be 
said  ;  but  they  went  through  the  good-night  cere- 
mony, and  filed  off  obediently,  when  a  tall  negro- 
woman,  in  a  bright  red-and-yellow  turban,  ap- 
peared at  the  door.  It  is  true,  there  was  a  riot 
in  the  nursery  that  night ;  but  no  sound  of  it 
reached  the  precincts  from  which  the  young  in- 
surgents had  been  banished,  for  Letty  was  quite 
equal  to  the  emergency  herself,  without  invoking 
aid  from  the  higher  powers. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Marks  obstinately  declined  to 
canvass  any  further  either  the  arrival  of  Pauline 
Morton  or  the  state  of  Mr.  Warwick's  affections 
— at  least  until  he  had  finished  that  article  from 
which  he  had  several  times  been  so  ruthlessly 
torn. 

"Those  subjects  will  keep  for  s>ome  night 
when  I  haven't  got  any  papers,  Bessie,"  he  said, 
to  his  wife's  infinite  indignation — an  indignation 
which  she  forthwith  manifested  by  taking  herself 
and  her  sewing  over  to  Miss  Tresham's  side. 

"  You  never  heard  much  about  the  Mortons, 
did  you,  my  dear  ?  "  she  asked,  after  admiring 
the  pretty  braiding  that  Katharine  was  putting 
on  an  apron  for  Nelly. 

"  I  never  heard  any  thing,"  the  young  govern- 
ess answered,  "  excepting  that  they  owned  Mor- 
ton House  and  lived  abroad." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Mrs.  Marks,  with  something  of  a 
sigh ;  "  people  don't  talk  much  about  things  that 
happened  twenty  years  ago.  But  oh,  my  dear,  if 
you  could  only  have  seen  Morton  House  when 
the  Mortons  lived  there,  and  when  Pauline  was 
in  her  prime !  Such  troops  of  servants  as  they 
had  !  such  splendid  horses !  such  furniture  and 
such  grounds !  Why,  you  can  see  for  your- 
self, even  now,  how  magnificent  the  grounds 
were ! " 

"  They  must  have  been  very  beautiful  when 
they  were  kept  up,"  said  Katharine,  "  and  they 
are  certainly  very  extensive." 

"  I  should  think  so,  indeed !  Why,  there 
used  to  be  fifteen  acres  in  gardens  alone  !  I  re- 
member, when  I  was  a  girl,  going  to  a  camp, 
meeting  once,  where  one  of  the  preachers  said 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


that  the  best  idea  of  heaven  he  could  give  was 
that  it  would  be  even  more  beautiful  than  the 
grounds  of  Morton  House." 

"  Why  did  its  owners  leave  it  ?  " 

"  Ah,  you  may  well  ask !  But  it  was  all  Pau- 
line's fault.  She  was  so  beautiful  and  so  proud 
that  she  scorned  everybody  and  every  thing  here. 
She  was  never  satisfied  unless  the  house  was 
full  of  strange  company  from  the  cities,  and  at 
last  she  told  her  parents  that  she  would  rather 
die  than  live  in  the  backwoods.  So  her  parents, 
who  would  have  tried  to  get  the  stars  for  her 
if  she  had  wanted  them,  left  their  beautiful  home 
and  went  to  Europe — never  to  come  back,  as  it 
turned  out." 

"  Did  none  of  them  ever  come  back  ?  "  asked 
Katharine,  becoming  rather  interested. 

"  None  of  them  ever  came  back — until  to- 
day. There  was  a  young  brother — only  one — 
who  grew  up  in  Europe ;  and  I  have  heard  that 
he  laughed  at  the  idea  of  returning  to  America 
to  live.  He  must  have  spent  money  at  a  dreadful 
rate  after  his  father's  death ;  for  Mr.  Shields  told 
John  that  the  crops  were  always  mortgaged  be- 
fore they  went  into  market,  and  we  heard,  not 
long  ago,  that  the  house  itself  was  to  be  sold. 
If  that  had  been  the  case,  I  expect  Mr.  Annes- 
ley  would  have  bought  it." 

"  Why  ?     Is  he—" 

"  A  relation  ?  Oh,  yes.  His  mother  was  a 
Morton,  and  as  handsome  and  proud  as  all  the 
rest  of  them.  She  was  poor,  though,  for  her 
father  squandered  every  cent  he  had.  But  her 
uncle  always  treated  her  exactly  as  his  own 
daughter,  and  people  say  he  settled  a  very  good 
aura  on  her  when  she  married.  She  and  Pauline 
were  raised  together  like  sisters ;  but  they  never 
liked  each  other.  I  don't  know  which  was  in 
fault;  but  they  made  no  secret  of  the  matter. 
For  my  part,  I  rather  took  Pauline's  side,  though 
most  people  were  on  Elinor's ;  but  Pauline  was 
very  generous,  with  all  her  pride,  and  I  don't 
think  she  ever  made  her  cousin  feel  her  depend- 
ence. They  even  say  that  Mr.  Annesley  was 
Pauline's  admirer,  and  only  went  over  to  Elinor 
after  he  was  rejected.  Then  there's — 0  John, 
how  jou  startled  me  !  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  who 
had  come  in  upon  them  unawares ;  "  but  I  have 
been  waiting  some  time  for  a  chance  to  speak, 
and,  as  you  seemed  determined  not  to  give  me 
one,  I  was  obliged  to  take  it. — Miss  Tresham,  I 
wonder  if  you  will  excuse  me  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  have  just  found  a  letter  of  yours  in  my 
pocket,  which  was  left  there  throagh  the  joint 


carelessness  of  Katy  and  myself,  and  might  have 
been  lost  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  A  letter  for  rue,  Mr.  Warwick  ?  You  mus« 
be  mistaken." 

"  How  often  am  I  to  hear  that  to-night?"  he 
asked,  smiling.  "  I  think,  if  you  will  look  at  Una 
address,  you  will  acknowledge  that,  with  all  my 
stupidity,  I  have  hardly  made  a  mistake." 

He  laid  a  letter  down  on  the  table  before 
Katharine,  who  either  would  not  or  could  not 
hold  out  her  hand  to  receive  it — a  letter  written 
on  thin  foreign  paper,  stamped  with  a  foreign 
post-mark,  and  bearing  her  own  name  in  clear, 
legible  address. 

Not  so  clear  and  legible,  however,  but  that 
it  swam  before  her  eyes  as  she  bent  over  it ;  and 
John  Warwick  was  startled  by  the  pallor  of  the 
face  that  raised  itself,  and  by  the  anguish-stricken 
tone  of  the  voice  that  cried  out,  as  if  unconscious- 
ly: 

"  Oh,  if  you  had  but  lost  it !  if  you  had  but 
lost  it ! " 


CHAPTER   IV. 

WHAT   MRS.    ANNESLEY   DID. 

IT  would  be  difficult  to  exaggerate  the  excite- 
ment prevailing  in  Tallahoma — Tallahoma,  which 
was  very  stagnant  just  at  that  time,  for  want  of 
something  to  talk  about,  and  which  was  blessed 
beyond  its  most  sanguine  expectations  in  the  ar- 
rival of  Mrs.  Gordon.  The  news  of  that  arrival 
spread  rapidly  through  the  village ;  and,  while 
Mr.  Warwick  was  telling  his  story  at  the  Marks's 
tea-table,  it  would  be  hard  to  say  how  many 
other  tea-tables  were  entertained  by  different 
renditions  of  the  same  facts.  True,  there  was 
a  very  general  and  unsatisfactory  haziness  con- 
cerning the  why  and  wherefore  that  had  brought 
back  the  wanderer's  steps,  concerning  her  inten- 
tions, or  even  her  appearance.  But,  then,  these 
things  promised  an  abundant  harvest  of  gossip 
for  the  future ;  and  all-absorbing  for  to-night 
was  the  simple  fact  that  Pauline  Morton  had  re- 
turned. 

But  on  the  morrow,  after  there  was  time  for 
reflection,  after  the  news  had  spread  through  the 
county,  after  the  first  shock  of  surprise  was  over, 
and  people  looked'  each  other  gravely  in  the  face, 
they  began  to  ask,  How  had  she  returned  ? 

The  answer  was  not  long  in  coming.  She 
had  gone  away  in  the  flush  of  her  youth  and 


WHAT   MRS.   ANNESLEY   DID. 


15 


beauty,  guarded  by  her  parents,  and  with  all  the 
pomp  of  style  and  attendance  which  wealth  could 
secure.  She  returned  alone  and  unattended, 
with  no  husband  to  guard,«no  brother  to  pro- 
tect, no  friend  to  vouch  for  her — no  word  of 
warning,  no  single  order  of  preparation !  She 
came  to  her  childhood's  home  and  her  child- 
lood's  friends  with  no  pleasant  stir  and  bustle 
Df  happy  arrival,  but  silently  and  unexpectedly, 
more  like  an  outcast  seeking  shelter  than  a 
daughter  claiming  her  rightful  heritage.  Other 
people  besides  Mrs.  Marks  remembered  when  the 
Mortons  had  gone  away,  and,  contrasting  that 
departure  with  this  return,  almost  involuntarily 
shook  their  heads.  The  first  impulse  of  the 
world  is  always  to  distrust  mystery.  "  Some- 
thing is  wrong,"  they  said ;  and  many  of  them 
said  it  the  more  readily  because  Pauline  Morton 
had  been  one  of  those  shining  marks  which 
envy  loves,  and  because  in  her  proud  youth  she 
had  rather  provoked  than  conciliated  such  a 
feeling. 

It  is  exceedingly  doubtful  whether  any  state 
of  society  has  ever  existed  since  "  Adam  delved 
and  Eve  span,"  when  those  who  were  subordi- 
nate in  the  scale  of  worldly  advantage  have  not 
felt  a  sort  of  carping  dislike,  and  at  times  a  bit- 
ter enmity,  toward  the  few  whom  chance  or  for- 
'une  has  elevated  above  them.  We  can,  imagine 
now  the  rabble  of  Athens  spoke  of  Pericles  and 
Alcibiades ;  we  can  conceive  that  hatred  which 
from  first  to  last  the  Roman  plebeians  bore 
their  patrician  masters ;  we  can  guess  how  bit- 
terly the  serfs  and  retainers,  the  scorned  burgh- 
ers, and  oppressed  Jews,  spoke  in  bated  whis- 
pers of  the  great  feudal  lords ;  we  can  read  how 
often  and  how  fiercely  the  great  unknown  have 
lashed  themselves  into  fury  against  some  class, 
some  order,  or  some  individual  that  birth,  me- 
rit, or  circumstance,  rendered  illustrious ;  and 
we  can  well  believe  that  the  same  envy  which 
we  see  manifested  in  a  dozen  petty  instances 
every  day,  the  same  envy  which  was  tired  of 
nearing  Aristides  called  the  Just — has  been  the 
great  moving  spring  of  many  of  earth's  revolu- 
tions, and  is  equally  the  moving  spring  of  half 
the  ill-nature  and  more  than  half  the  ill-speaking 
of  the  world.  To  make  a  small  application  of  a 
wide  truism,  it  was  certainly  the  moving  spring 
of  most  of  the  ebullitions  of  spiteful  spleen  in 
which  for  many  years  Lagrange  had  permitted 
itself  to  indulge  regarding  the  Mortons.  People 
more  generous,  more  frank,  or  more  hospitable, 
than  these  Mortons,  it  -would  be  hard  to  find; 
but  they  were  of  good  blood,  and  very  proud  of 


their  descent ;  they  were  immensely  wealthy,  and 
spent  their  wealth  liberally.  These  two  facts 
were  amply  sufficient  to  excite  that  alloy  of 
popular  dislike  which  otherwise  their  many  good 
qualities — qualities  that  even  envy  could  not  deny 
— might  have  disarmed.  Not  that  they  were  un- 
popular in  the  general  sense  of  the  term ;  iiot 
that  men  denied  their  genial  uprightness  of  char- 
acter,  or  failed  to  respect  them  as  only  the  honor- 
able are  respected.  But  they  were  too  prosper- 
ous !  The  world  and  the  things  of  the  world 
went  well  with  them ;  Fortune  favored  them  in 
all  their  undertakings,  while  those  who  were 
less  lucky  could  only  look  on  and  wonder  why 
and  how  it  was.  They  kept  great  state,  and, 
although  some  of  the  best  blood  of  the  country 
was  to  be  found  in  Lagrange,  still  there  was 
no  family  that  quite  ranked  with  the  Mortons, 
to  whose  wealth  and  enterprise  Lagrange  was 
indebted  for  much  of  its  prosperity.  The  old- 
est and  by  far  the  most  stately  residence  of  the 
county  was  the  house  which  had  been  built  by 
the  representative  man  of  the  line — one  Hugh 
Morton  of  three  generations  back.  The  village 
of  Tallahoma  had  begun  its  existence  merely  as 
the  post-office  of  this  house ;  and  the  same 
house  had  been  for  many  years  the  centre  of 
such  a  lavish  and  refined  hospitality  that  its 
reputation  spread  far  and  wide  throughout  the 
entire  State. 

Considering  their  social  importance,  then,  it 
was  no  wonder  that  all  Lagrange  was  thrown 
into  a  commotion  when  it  was  announced  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  were  going  to  Europe, 
ostensibly  for  their  son's  education,  but  really 
to  gratify  their  daughter's  whim — the  daughter 
who  was  accustomed  to  say  that  life  in  America 
was  worse  than  death,  who  panted  for  the  rush 
and  fever  of  the  Old  World  as  ambitious  men 
pant  for  fame,  and  to  whom  it  was  solely  due 
that  her  indulgent  parents  went  abroad,  leaving 
their  noble  home  to  pass  into  decay  while  they 
dwelt  in  Parisian  hotels  and  Neapolitan  villas. 
She  had  the  more  easily  compassed  her  point  be- 
cause there  was  no  one  of  sufficient  moral  force 
to  resist  her.  Some  men — most  men,  in  fact — 
would  have  been  utterly  lost  in  the  dilettante 
existence  thus  forced  upon  them ;  but  her  father 
was  just  the  exceptional  man  who  enjoyed  it.  If 
he  had  been  born  among  the  lower  classes  in 
Spain  or  Italy,  he  would  have  spent  his  life  on  a 
door-step  basking  in  the  sun  ;  and,  as  it  was,  he 
spent  it  in  morally  doing  the  same  thing.  He 
was  frank  and  generous  to  a  fault ;  but  he  was 
intensely  indolent,  pleasure-loving  when  the  pur. 


16 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


suit  of  pleasure  did  not  involve  too  much  trouble, 
and  fond  of  ease  and  luxury  to  an  almost  wom- 
anly degree.  Mrs.  Morton,  for  her  part,  was 
bound  up  in  her  daughter's  wishes  and  her  daugh- 
ter's triumphs,  with  a  great  sympathy  for  both, 
and  a  great  liking  herself  for  the  things  that 
were  so  attractive  to  Pauline.  The  or.ly  son  was 
a  mere  child.  So,  with  none  to  put  an  obstacle 
in  her  path,  Pauline's  impetuous  will  carried  the 
day.  The  desire  of  her  heart  was  granted  her, 
as  the  desires  of  our  hearts  are  rarely  granted 
to  us  here  on  earth  ;  and,  when  she  took  her  life 
in  her  own  hands  and  went  her  way,  it  was  as 
some  gallant  ship  sails  away  from  a  familiar  har- 
bor to  cruise  in  unknown  seas,  where  happiness 
and  fortune  may  be  attainable,  but  where  ship- 
wreck and  disaster  are  much  more  likely  to  be 
encountered. 

For  some  time  after  the  departure  of  the 
voluntary  exiles,  fragmentary  news  came  back 
of  their  wanderings ;  of  their  cordial  recognition 
by  the  English  relatives  they  had  partly  gone  to 
seek ;  of  Pauline's  fresh  triumphs  ;  and  of  their 
glittering  life  in  foreign  cities.  But  all  this 
was  very  vaguely  told,  and  soon  ceased  alto- 
gether— fifty  years  ago  the  country-districts  of 
America  were  farther  removed  from  such  scenes 
than  is  the  interior  of  China  to-day.  Soon  all 
tidings  of  the  Mortons  ceased,  and  before  long 
the  Mortons  themselves  might  have  been  for- 
gotten, had  not  the  house  which  bore  their  name 
and  seemed  gloomily  mourning  them,  stood  as  a 
perpetual  reminder  of  their  existence.  Only  at 
long  intervals  certain  items  of  intelligence  still 
gratified  the  gossips  of  Lagrange.  First  came 
the  tidings  of  Mr.  Morton's  death ;  then  news  of 
Pauline's  marriage  to  some  one,  who  was  vari- 
ously represented  of  every  imaginable  national- 
ity and  rank ;  and,  lastly,  the  announcement  of 
her  mother's  death.  Then  silence  fell,  silence 
complete  and  unbroken,  although  the  county 
leader  of  fashion,  handsome  Mrs.  Annesley,  was 
first  cousin  to  the  surviving  brother  and  sister, 
had  been  reared  in  their  father's  house,  and 
married  from  it.  But  everybody  knew  that  Pau- 
line had  never  liked  her  cousin,  and  that  it  was 
a  happy  day  for  both  when  Edgar  Annesley  (who 
was  killed  in  a  duel  a  few  years  later)  took  his 
bride  from  the  door  of  Morton  House. 

Remembering  all  these  things,  a  thrill  of  in- 
tense interest  and  surprise  ran  through  the  coun- 
ty when  Lagrange  heard  of  Pauline  Morton's 
return.  There  was  not  a  family  of  good  rank 
within  its  borders  that  did  not  own  some  con- 
nection of  blood  or  ancient  friendship  with  Mor- 


ton ;  and  not  a  family,  therefore,  which  was  n  > 
personally  interested  in  this  unexpected  arrival 
Still  even  these  people  paused  and  looked  al 
each  other  full  of  tioubt.  If  Pauline  Morton 
had  come  back  among  them  with  the  state 
which,  to  their  imagination,  was  always  asso- 
ciated with  the  name ;  if  she  had  thrown  open 
the  old  hospitable  doors,  and  lighted  up  once 
more  the  old  hospitable  rooms  ;  if  she  had  bid- 
den her  friends  around  her,  and  asked  their  wel- 
come with  the  matchless  grace  they  still  remem- 
bered— they  would  have  been  the  last  people  in 
the  world  to  question  whence  she  came,  or  why 
she  chose  to  shroud  her  past  life  in  mystery. 
But  the  singularity  of  her  course  awakened  in 
them  the  first  chill  of  suspicion.  Why  come 
back  in  this  way  to  her  own  house  ?  Why 
write  no  letters  ?  Why  give  no  warning  to  the 
friends  who  had  a  right  to  know  of  her  inten- 
tion ?  Why  ask  no  aid  from  their  support,  she 
coming  back  so  strangely  alone  to  claim  her  old 
position  ?  Why  offer  no  explanation  of  her  mar- 
riage and  widowhood  ?  Why  think  that  her  old 
acquaintances  would  take  for  granted  the  twenty 
years  passed  away  from  them — the  twenty  years 
in  which  she  might  have  climbed  any  height,  or 
plunged  into  any  depth,  unknown  to  them? 
Truly  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  elders  among 
them  sheok  their  heads ;  and  truly  it  did  not 
look  as  if  Pauline  Morton  had  come  back  to  win 
any  very  warm  welcome  from  her  kinsfolk  and 
friends. 

Yet  among  the  former  class  was  one  person 
at  least  to  whom  no  neutral  position  was  possi- 
ble, one  person  on  whom  the  burden  of  positive 
action  was  incumbent,  and  from  whom  every 
obligation  of  gratitude  that  the  world  counts 
binding  commanded  a  speedy  and  cordial  wel- 
come to  the  returned  wanderer.  This  person 
was  Mrs.  Annesley ;  and  yet  her  worst  enemy 
— if,  indeed,  the  handsome,  charming  lady  owned 
any  enemies — could  not  have  contrived  for  her  a 
more  disagreeable  surprise  than  the  news  of  her 
cousin's  arrival  proved.  When  she  heard  the 
particulars  of  this  arrival,  she  turned  very  pale ; 
and  then — went  to  bed  with  one  of  those  bad 
nervous  attacks  which  alwa^fe  stood  her  in  such 
good  stead  when  an  unpleasant  exertion  was 
demanded,  or  an  unpleasant  duty  was  to  be  per- 
formed. She  deplored  this  necessity  very  pathet- 
ically ;  and  assured  the  friends  who  came  to  see 
her  that  she  wa*  especially  sorry  because  she 
could  not  go  at  once  to  meet  and  welcome  "  dear 
Pauline."  But  these  friends  were  by  no  means 
obtuse ;  they  understood  the  matter  perfectly, 


WHAT   MRS.   ANNESLEY   DID. 


17 


and  told  each  other  when  they  went  out  that  it 
was  evident  Mrs.  Annesley  felt  very  awkwardly 
about  meeting  her  cousin,  and  that  they  did  not 
wonder  at  it. 

"  It  is  unfortunate  that  I  should  be  ill  just  at 
this  time,"  Mrs.  Annesley  said  to  her  daughter, 
Mrs.  French — a  pretty,  fashionable-looking  girl 
two  or  three  years  younger  than  her  brother 
Morton,  and  lately  married — on  the  evening  of 
the  day  when  these  visits  had  been  paid.  "  I 
certainly  ought  to  see  Pauline  at  once,  and  it  is 
quite  impossible  for  me  to  do  so.  Yet  people 
will  be  sure  to  think  it  very  strange." 

"  Mrs.  Raynor  told  me  to-day  that  everybody 
is  waiting  to  see  what  you  mean  to  do,"  Mrs. 
French  answered.  "  If  I  were  you,  mamma,  I 
would  let  them  wait.  A  woman  who  comes 
back  like  this  does  not  deserve  any  considera- 
tion." 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Annesley,  truthfully  enough. 

It  was  a  little  before  dark,  and  the  mother 
and  daughter  were  quite  alone  in  the  chamber 
of  the  former.  With  the  outside  world  it  was 
still  daylight,  but  here  the  shades  of  twilight 
had  already  gathered,  deepening  in  all  the  nooks 
and  corners  of  the  room,  and  only  dissipated  by 
the  ruddy  glow  which  a  bright  wood-fire  cast 
over  the  polished  furniture  and  the  softly-tinted 
walls.  On  one  side  of  the  hearth  sat  Mrs.  An- 
nesley in  a  deep  arm-chair.  Her  cashmere  dress- 
ing-gown, her  dainty  lace  cap,  and  her  velvet 
slippers,  were  all  perfect ;  for  she  had  made  a 
tasteful  invalid  toilet  in  expectation  of  those 
compassionate  visitors  who  had  just  departed. 
Opposite,  and  if  possible  in  a  still  more  luxuri- 
ous attitude,  Mrs.  French  was  sitting — the  fire- 
light flickering  over  her  silk  dress,  and  glancing 
back  from  her  gold  chatelaine.  She  had  been 
busy  with  some  netting ;  but  the  rose-colored 
web  had  dropped  in  her  lap,  her  hands  were 
loosely  folded  over  it,  and  her  eyes  were  roving 
absently  from  the  fire  to  her  mother,  and  from 
her  mother  to  the  heavily-draped  windows  that 
commanded  a  view  of  the  lawn  before  the  house, 
and  the  belt  of  dark  shrubbery  beyond.  Finally, 
she  said,  languidly : 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  that  Morton  is  away." 

"  It  is  a  most  fortunate  thing,"  answered 
Mrs.  Annesley,  with  energy.  "  Morton  is  so 
Quixotic  in  his  ideas  that  there  really  is  no 
tounting  on  him,  and  he  is  so  unfortunately 
straightforward  that  he  cannot  understand  the 
dehcate  management  which  some  things  require. 
I  am  sure  he  would  give  me  trouble  if  he  were 


here ;  so  I  agree  with  you,  Adela — it  is  a  good 
thing  that  Mr.  French  wrote  for  him  just  now." 

"  It  will  be  at  least  a  fortnight  before  he  can 
get  back,"  said  Adela,  who  had  been  making 
some  calculation  of  time  and  distance  while  her 
mother  spoke.  "  Perhaps  it  may  be  longer,  if 
Frank  decides  to  come  with  him,  as  I  hope  he 
will.  Then  I  shall  keep  him  here  until  I  am 
ready  to  go  back  to  Mobile." 

u  It  is  very  provoking  that  you  should  need 
to  go  back,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley,  pettishly.  "  I 
shall  never  be  satisfied  until  you  are  settled  in 
Lagrange.  If  I  could  only  carry  out  my  plans  ! 
If  you  could  only  live  here — " 

"Frank  would  never  consent  to  it,  mamma," 
interrupted  Adela,  placidly.  "  He  says,  very 
truly,  that  Morton  will  be  marrying  some  day, 
and,  of  course,  bringing  his  wife  here ;  and, 
then,  the  arrangement  would  never  do." 

"  Of  course,  there  could  be  no  question  of  it 
under  those  circumstances — that  is,  if  Morton 
decided  to  make  this  place  his  home,"  said  Mrs. 
Annesley.  "  But  that  was  not  my  plan,  Adela, 
as  you  very  well  know." 

"  I  know  you  thought  of  Morton  House  for 
him,  and  Annesdale  for  us.  That  would  certain- 
ly be  very  nice.  But  I  suppose  we  must  give  up 
all  hope  of  it  now." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  answered  Mrs. 
Annesley,  quickly.  "  It  is  almost  beyond  pa- 
tience," she  went  on,  "that  this  woman  should 
come  back  now  to  defeat  all  my  plans.  Every 
thing  was  so  well  arranged.  Alfred  Morton  was 
perfectly  willing  to  sell  the  house,  and  Morton 
could  well  afford  to  give  even  the  exorbitant 
price  he  asked.  It  is  true  that  for  the  same 
amount  he  could  have  bought  the  finest  planta- 
tion in  the  State ;  but  then  no  other  place  could 
be  to  him  like  that  —  his  great-grandfather's 
house.  Nobody  knows  how  my  heart  has  al- 
ways been  set  on  this.  Ever  since  Morton  was 
a  child,  I  have  counted  on  seeing  him  owner  of 
Morton  House.  It  seemed  to  me  it  would  even 
make  amends  for  all  I  once  endured  in  that 
house,  to  know  that  my  son  was  master  there. 
And  now  this  kind  cousin,  who  always  hated 
me,  has  come  back — simply  to  disappoint  my 
wishes." 

"  It  would  be  very  nice,"  said  Adela,  whose 
mind  was  still  bent  on  the  arrangement,  as  it- 
affected  her  own  comfort.  "Frank  and  I  could 
settle  here,  and  I  need  not  trouble  myself  any 
more  about  his  disagreeable  relations  in  Mobile 
Morton  could  marry  Irene  Vernon,  and  live  in 
that  tumble-down  old  barn  that  you  have  such 


18 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


a  fancy  for-  and  you  could  have  your  rooms  at 
both  places,  and  visit  between  us,  just  as  you 
liked.  It  is  <i  pity  that  one  of  your  cousins  took 
it  into  his  head  to  die,  and  the  other  one  to  come 
back  just  now." 

"  Gordon  ! "  said  Mrs.  Annesley,  slowly ; 
"  Gordon !  I  am  confident  that  I  once  heard 
the  name  of  the  man  Pauline  Morton  married  ; 
and,  if  I  could  recall  it  now,  it  might  be  worth 
remembering.  I  am  almost  sure — as  sure  as  I 
can  be  of  any  thing  which  did  not  dwell  posi- 
tively on  my  mind — that  it  was  not  Gordon." 

"  Goodness,  mamma !  Has  she  come  back 
under  a  false  name  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  certain,  of  course ;  but  my  own 
impression  is  that  she  has.  Don't  mention  it, 
though,  Adela.  People  are  talking  enough 
about  her  already,  and  we  need  not  circulate  a 
fact  which  undoubtedly  looks  very  badly." 

"  You  may  be  sure,  mamma,  that  nobody  ever 
acts  as  she  is  acting  without  some  reason  for 
it." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that,"  answered  Mrs. 
Annesley,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  something  like 
triumph  in  her  eyes.  "  But  it  does  not  surprise 
me  in  the  least — nothing  that  I  could  hear  of 
her  would  surprise  me.  Her  pride  and  insolence 
were  so  great  that  they  paved  a  fall  for  them- 
lelves.  Times  have  changed,  Adela ;  you  don't 
know  how  strangely  it  makes  me  feel  to  realize 
that  twenty-five  years  ago  Pauline  Morton  was 
the  queen  of  Lagrange,  and  to-day  it  is  doubtful 
whether  there  is  a  single  person  of  good  position 
in  the  county  who  will  move  an  inch  to  welcome 
her." 

"  It  all  depends  on  you,"  said  Adela,  in  her 
languid  way.  "  Mrs.  Raynor  told  me  that.  She 
says  that  everybody  is  in  doubt  what  to  do,  and 
they  mean  to  wait  and  see  how  you  will  act." 

"  There,  again,  times  have  changed,"  said 
Mrs.  Annesley,  gazing  into  the  fire  "  Twenty- 
five  years  ago  I  was  the  dependent  cousin  whom 
Pauline  Morton  barely  tolerated ;  and  to-day  it 
seems  that  here,  in  her  own  home,  the  question 
of  her  social  recognition  depends  on  me." 

"  It  depends  on  you  how  people  will  receive 
her,"  said  the  matter-of-fact  Adela.  "  If  I  were 
you,  mamma,  1  would  let  her  see  this,  and  then 
— you  might  perhaps  make  your  own  terms,  and 
get  Morton  House  after  all." 

Mrs.  Annesley  gave  her  daughter  a  glance, 
and  laughed  a  little. 

"  You  are  tolerably  quick-witted,  Adela,  and 
would  make  a  pretty  good  diplomatist.  Certain- 
ly, I  don't  owe  Pauline  much,  in  the  way  of  a 


good  turn ;  and  certainly,  also,  the  advantages 
of  the  situation  are  on  my  side  now^  If  Morton 
is  not  the  owner  of  Morton  House  yet,  you  may 
be  sure  that  it  will  not  be  my  fault.  By-the-by, 
did  Mrs.  Raynor  tell  you  any  thing  of  thosd 
reports  we  heard  about  Pauline  several  yeara 


"  Nothing  at  all,  mamma,  for  she  did  not 
seem  to  know  any  thing.  She  said  there  had 
been  reports,  but  that  they  were  very  vague, 
and  she  had  never  been  able  to  make  much  out 
of  them.  She  said,  also,  that  you  would  not 
speak  of  them  ;  but  she  was  sure  you  knew 
more  about  the  matter  than  anybody  else." 

"  She  is  mistaken,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley  ;  "  I  * 
know  nothing  about  it.  How  or  with  whom  the 
reports  originated,  I  cannot  tell ;  and,  simply  be- 
cause I  did  not  choose  to  contradict  them,  peo- 
ple took  it  for  granted  that  I  believed  them 
and  was  well  acquainted  with  all  the  particu- 
lars." 

"  I  expect  you  looked  as  if  you  believed  them. 
That  is  a  way  you  have,  mamma." 

"  I  certainly  could  not  look  as  if  I  did  not  be- 
lieve them,  when  they  were  so  entirely  in  keeping 
with  Pauline  Morton's  character,"  answered  Mrs. 
Annesley,  a  little  coldly.  "  She  was  always  im- 
prudent and  reckless  to  the  last  degree.  If  she 
has  learned  wisdom,  it  has  been  since  she  left 
Lagrange. — Will  you  ring  the  bell  there,  Adela  ? 
I  must  order  some  chocolate  for  my  supper ; 
coffee  keeps  me  awake,  and  is  bad  for  my 
nerves." 

The  bell  was  rung ;  the  chocolate  was  or- 
dered ;  the  servant  who  received  the  order  deliv- 
ered a  message  to  Mrs.  French  about  some  house- 
hold matter  which  demanded  her  presence  down- 
stairs ;  and,  with  the  regretful  sigh  of  an  indolent 
person,  the  lady  tore  herself  from  her  comforta- 
ble lounging-place,  and  departed.  The  door  had 
scarcely  closed  on  her,  when  Mrs.  Annesley  rose 
and  walked  to  the  window.  The  dusk  had  fallen 
by  this  time,  and  she  could  not  do  more  than  dis- 
tinguish the  outlines  of  the  familiar  objects  be- 
fore her — the  piazzas  and  wings  of  the  house, 
the  graceful  trees  and  well-trimmed  shrubs  that 
were  scattered  over  the  gently-sloping  lawn. 
Every  thing  at  Annesdale  was  in  the  most  per- 
fect taste ;  but  every  thing  was  undisguisedly 
new,  and  just  now  Mrs.  Annesley's  heart  was 
longing  for  something  which  was  old.  Her  hus^ 
band  had  begun,  and  she  herself  had  completed, 
the  house  in  which  she  stood  ;  yet,  charming  as 
it  was  in  every  appliance  of  luxury  and  com- 
fort,  her  perverse  fancy  went  back  to  the  stateh 


AFTER  TWENTY   YEARS. 


19 


rooms,  dark  and  mellow  with  age,  where  her 
youth  hud  been  passed.  She  looked  steadfastly 
out  of  the  window,  over  the  trees  and  shrubbery 
which  her  own  hand  had  planted,  beyond  the 
dark  woods  and  broad  fields,  until  she  saw — in 
imagination — the  noble  oaks  of  Morton  House, 
and  the  tall  chimneys,  from  which,  for  the  first 
time  in  twenty  years,  the  smoke  of  household 
fires  was  curling  upward.  Then  her  brows  con- 
tracted in  a  slight  frown — a  frown  not  sufficiently 
marked  to  darken  the  handsome  face,  or  give  a 
severe  aspect  to  its  smooth  lines.  "  Times  are 
changed,"  she  said,  once  more,  but  this  time 
only  half  aloud.  "  Will  she  recognize  that  as 
plainly  as  I  do,  I  wonder  ?  Will  she  see  that, 
indeed,  the  advantage  is  with  me  now,  and  that 
it  is  for  me  to  decide  whether  Pauline  Morton — 
the  beauty,  the  heiress,  the  belle  of  Lagrange, 
twenty-five  years  ago — shall  not  be  a  social  out- 
law in  Lagrange  to-day?  whether,  six  months 
hence,  Morton  House  shall  not  be  in  my  Morton's 
hands  ?  " 

Before  long,  Mrs.  French  came  back,  and 
found  her  mother  sitting  as  quietly  as  ever  be- 
side the  hearth,  in  the  dim,  fire-lighted  apartment. 
The  two  ladies  spent  the  evening  together,  and, 
when  they  separated  for  the  night,  the  last  thing 
Mrs.  Annesley  told  her  daughter  was  that  her  in- 
convenient illness  would  at  least  serve  one  good 
purpose,  in  enabling  her  to  see  what  other  peo- 
ple meant  to  do  in  the  case  of  her  cousin. 

Several  days  elapsed.  Then  she  found  that 
Mrs.  Raynor  was  right,  and  that  other  people 
hail  made  up  their  minds  to  the  same  masterly 
po'.icy  of  inaction  which  she  herself  had  been 
practising.  So,  urged  partly  by  this  fact,  and 
partly  by  a  growing  fear  of  her  son's  return,  she 
became  suddenly  convalescent,  thought  a  drive 
might  benefit  her,  and  ordered  the  carriage. 

"  I  won't  ask  you  to  accompany  me,  Adela," 
ehe  said  to  Mrs.  French.  "  If  I  should  go  to 
Morton  House,  the  meeting  would,  of  course,  be 
very  painful  on  both  sides,  and  had  better  be  as 
private  as  possible.  Besides,  I  don't  care  to 
draw  you  into  a  connection  that  may  prove  a 
very  awkward  one.  Frank  might  object  to  it." 

"  Frank  is  not  of  any  importance,"  £aid 
Frank's  wife,  carelessly.  "  But  I  wouldn't  think 
of  such  a  thing  as  going — not  for  the  world  !  I 
bate  disagreeable  people,  and  this  Pauline  Mor- 
ton must  be  very  disagreeable.  Don't  tell  her  I 
im  here,  mamma — I  beg  you,  don't  do  that !  " 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  shall  go  to  Morton 
House,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley.  "  It  depends  on 
how  I  feel,"  she  added,  gravely,  as  she  went 


down  the  piazza-steps  and  entered  the  carriage 
which  was  drawn  up  before  them.  "  Mrs.  Tay- 
lor's, John,"  she  said  to  the  coachman,  who 
stood  waiting  his  orders.  And,  as  the  carriage 
drove  off,  Adela,  who  was  still  on  the  piazza, 
saw  her  lean  back  and  put  her  vinaigrette  to  her 
nostrils. 

Her  point  of  destination  was  not  more  than 
two  or  three  miles  from  Annesdale ;  so  she  had 
not  time  to  feel  her  nerves  in  any  unpleasant 
degree  before  the  mettled  horses  swept  up  to 
a  red-brick  house,  set  in  the  midst  of  a  bright- 
green  lawn,  with  a  brilliant  hedge  on  either  side, 
and  an  ornate  fence  in  front.  Here  the  languid 
invalid  was  warmly  welcomed  by  Mrs.  Taylor  and 
some  half-dozen  daughters,  whose  ages  ranged 
from  fifteen  to  thirty,  and  whose  ugliness  was 
from  comparative  to  superlative  degree.  Mrs. 
Taylor  was  a  widow  ;  her  daughters  were  all  un- 
married ;  and,  since  country-life  is  stagnant  at 
best,  and  a  large  household  composed  exclusive- 
ly of  women  must  certainly  bestow  its  energies 
upon  some  employment,  the  Taylors,  mother  and 
daughters,  were  widely  famed  for  devoting  them- 
selves, like  the  Athenians  of  old,  to  "  telling  and 
hearing  something  new."  Their  house  was  the 
headquarters  of  all  news  (reliable  or  otherwise) 
which  was  afloat  in  Lagrange,  and  the  mint  where 
all  reports  were  stamped  for  current  circulation. 
If  Mrs.  Annesley  had  wished  to  put  her  finger  on 
the  public  pulse,  and  feel  how  strong  or  how 
feeble  were  its  beats  on  the  Morton  question, 
she  could  not  have  chosen  a  better  place  for 
the  purpose. 

Perhaps  this  had  been  her  intention.  At  all 
events,  when  she  left  the  red-brick  mansion  be- 
hind, and  was  on  the  high-road,  she  gave  the 
order,  "  Morton  House." 


CHAPTER  V. 

AFTER   TWENTY   YEARS. 

HALF  an  hour  later,  Mrs.  Annesley's  footman 
was  unfastening  a  large,  rusty  iron-gate,  and 
holding  it  open  while  the  flashing  carriage  rolled 
majestically  through.  Then  he  let  the  wings  fall 
together  with  a  loud  clang,  and  Mrs.  Annesley 
felt  that  she  was  within  the  domain  of  Morton 
House. 

It  was  rather  a  dreary-looking  place  into 
which  she  had  entered ;  and  none  the  less  dreary 
because  showing  evident  signs  of  much  by-gone 
beauty  and  care — dreary  with  a  forsaken  air 


MORTON   EOTJSE. 


of  neglect  under  the  soft  November  sky,  and 
with  the  mellow  glory  of  the  November  sun- 
shine streaming  upon  it.  In  all  Indian-summer 
weather,  there  is  a  pathos  of  intangible  sadness 
— even  on  tbe  bright  road,  and  under  its  glorious 
golden  woods  this  was  sensibly  to  be  felt;  but 
here  it  deepened  into  something  almost  approach- 
ing pain,  something  which  even  a  nature  as 
wholly  prosaic  as  Mrs.  Annesley's  could  not  but 
feel.  "  One  might  believe  it  was  a  graveyard," 
she  thought  to  herself,  as  her  eye  swept  over  the 
broad,  park-like  extent  around  her.  A  sudden 
break  in  the  closely-planted  trees  of  the  avenue 
spread  a  fair  picture  before  her  eyes — a  picture 
fair  in  its  decay.  True,  the  noble  lawn  was 
thickly  strewed  with  the  fallen  and  mouldering 
leaves  of  many  autumns,  and  the  once  magnifi- 
cent shrubbery,  which  on  the  south  side  stretched 
away  into  far-reaching  gardens,  was  now  little 
more  than  an  overgrown  wilderness.  But  there 
was  an  almost  regal  air  of  space  spread  over  all ; 
and  even  neglect  could  not  entirely  destroy  the 
matchless  landscape  gardening  that  had  once 
been  displayed  here — the  artistic  grouping  of 
trees  and  shrubs,  the  forest  vistas,  and  the  en- 
chanting vicissitudes  of  light  and  shadow  so  skil- 
fully blent  and  arranged.  The  avenue  was  at 
least  a  mile  in  length,  and  led  almost  directly 
to  a  broad,  green  terrace,  which  extended  around 
the  house,  and  from  which  stone  steps  descended 
to  the  drive  below.  The  house  itself  was  now  in 
Bight — old,  large,  brown,  and  weather-beaten. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  all  the  dreariness  of  fall- 
ing shutters  and  rotting  roof,  there  was  some- 
thing about  it  which  made  it  not  difficult  to 
believe  that  it  had  once  been  the  gayest  and 
most  hospitable  dwelling  in  the  county — a  some- 
thing which  had  survived  all  the  long  twenty 
years  when  no  feet  had  crossed  its  threshold 
gave  those  of  the  servants,  who  once  every  six 
months  opened  the  windows  and  let  God's  sun- 
shine stream  for  a  brief  space  into  the  darkened 
chambers ! — the  twenty  years  when  no  house- 
hold-fires had  blazed  on  the  cold  hearths,  when 
no  master's  voice  or  mistress's  laughter,  or  chil- 
dren's merry  tones,  had  sounded  along  its  gal- 
leries, or  broken  the  silence  of  its  deserted 
rooms. 

"  There  only  need  a  few  repairs  to  make  it 
again  the  most  beautiful  place  in  all  the  county," 
Mrs.  Annesley  said  to  herself,  as  she  leaned  for- 
ward for  a  better  view  of  the  house,  which  she 
was  now  rapidly  approaching — the  house  that 
had  sheltered  her  childhood  and  youth,  and  from 
which  her  husband  had  taken  her  a  bride.  And, 


as  she  bent  forward  in  the  bright  sunshine,  and 
looked  at  the  dark  old  front,  with  its  lofty  stone 
portico,  a  sudden  vision  seemed  to  rise  before 
her — a  vision  of  a  royal-looking  girl,  with  a  face 
that  was  brilliant  as  an  oleander  blossom,  with 
hair  that  seemed  to  have  caught  the  sunshine  OL 
every  thread,  with  eyes  of  matchless  splendor, 
with  the  profile  of  a  Greek  cameo,  and  the  bear- 
ing of  a  Greek  goddess.  She  saw  this  lovely 
vision  standing  where  Pauline  Morton  so  often 
had  stood,  just  within  the  shadow  of  the  ai.jhed 
door-way,  wearing  the  fresh-flowing  muslin  that 
Pauline  Morton  so  often  had  worn,  and  turning 
as  if  to  greet  her  with  the  winning  smile  she  had 
seen  so  often  on  Pauline  Morton's  lip.  It  was 
only  a  moment  that  this  picture  of  the  past  stood 
framed  there ;  but  so  vivid  was  it  that  Mrs.  An- 
nesley almost  seemed  to  look  through  the  open 
doors  behind,  and  see  the  sunshine  of  long  ago 
falling  on  the  tessellated  floor  of  the  wide,  cool 
hall — almost  seemed  to  see  the  servants  passing 
up  and  down  the  broad  staircase,  the  gay  faces 
at  the  drawing-room  windows,  and  all  the  life, 
the  stir,  the  bustle,  so  long  since  fled  forever. 
It  was  only  for  one  moment ;  the  next,  the  yel- 
low sunshine  slept  as  peacefully  as  before  on  the 
closed  door  and  vacant  step. 

But  the  past  had  not  come  back  in  vain  even 
to  this  woman's  selfish  heart,  and,  for  a  few  min- 
utes, she  wavered  in  the  purpose  which  had 
brought  her  there.  For  a  few  minutes,  she  re- 
membered how  long  that  roof  had  sheltered  her, 
how  constant  had  been  the  kindness,  how  lavish 
the  generosity  she  had  received  there ;  she  re- 
membered the  dead  who  had  befriended  her,  and, 
for  once,  the  ingratitude  she  was  meditating  rose 
up  to  reproach  her.  Then  her  son's  handsome 
face  and  gallant  presence  seemed  also  to  appear 
on  that  threshold  where  she  had  so  long  hoped 
to  see  him  master ;  and  the  mother's  heart 
steeled  itself  again.  "  It  is  for  him,"  she  mur- 
mured ;  "  and  I  should  not  hesitate  at  any  thing. 
however  painful,  to  serve  his  interest.  Besides, 
it  will  depend  upon  herself — that  is  the  only 
light  in  which  to  look  at  it.  It  will  depend  upon 
herself;  and  any  one  else  in  my  place  would  act 
as  I  must  do." 

As  if  to  give  emphasis  to  her  concluding 
words,  the  carriage  at  that  moment  drew  up 
before  the  terrace-steps,  and  the  footman  was 
on  the  ground  lowering  the  steps,  and  ready  to 
guard  his  mistress's  dress  from  any  contact  with 
the  dusty  wheels.'  It  was  too  late  to  retreat, 
even  if  Mrs.  Annesley  had  felt  inclined  for  anj 
thing  so  recreant.  But  she  alighted  at  once 


AFTER   TWENTY   YEARS. 


21 


ascended  the  steps  and  crossed  the  terrace,  her 
ample  skirts  sweeping  grandly  over  the  neglect- 
ed walks ;  entered  the  portico,  and,  finding  the 
door-bell  gone,  gave  a  summons  with  her  para- 
BO!  on  the  panel.  She  was  forced  to  repeat  it 
more  than  once  before  the  door  opened,  creaking 
a  sullen  protest  on  its  rusty  hinges,  and  a  gray- 
haired  servant  appeared.  He  looked  a  little 
doubtfully  at  the  lady  standing  before  him,  shad- 
ing his  eyes  with  one  hand,  for  the  sunlight 
streamed  full  in  his  face;  but  she  smiled  at 
once  in  cordial  recognition. 

"  Why,  Harrison,  is  it  you  ? "  she  said. 
"And  so  you  are  back  in  the  old  place.  How 
are  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  Miss  Elinor !  I  beg  your  pardon, 
ma'am,  but  I  didn't  know  you  at  first,"  the  old 
man  answered,  as  he  took  the  delicately-gloved 
hand  she  extended,  in  the  momentary  clasp  of 
his  horny  black  one.  "  Yes'm,  I'm  back.  Miss 
Pauline  said  as  how  she  would  rather  see  the  old 
faces  about  her  than  any  new  ones,  Miss  Eli- 
nor." 

Miss  Elinor  !  Yes,  she  was  "  Miss  Elinor  " 
yet,  to  these  old  servants  of  her  uncle's  house- 
hold ;  and,  although  she  often  met  them,  and 
heard  the  name,  it  had  never  brought  back  the 
memory  of  her  youth  as  it  did  now,  when  she 
was  standing  at  the  door  of  Morton  House,  and 
heard  it  from  the  lips  that  had  repeated  to  her 
the  messages  of  friends  and  admirers  in  the  days 
gone  by. 

"  And  Pauline  ?  "  she  said,  eagerly.  "  I  have 
been  sick,  Harrison,  or  I  should  have  been  to  see 
her  before  this.  How  is  she  ?  " 

Harrison  shook  his  head. 

"  You'll  see  for  yourself,  Miss  Elinor,"  he 
answered ;  "  and  I'm  afraid  you'll  be  shocked, 
ina'am.  But  I'm  glad  you've  come — mebbe 
you'll  cheer  her  up  a  little." 

"  Does  she  need  cheering  ?     Is  she  sick  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am,  not  sick,  but  so  changed 
like.  It  was  an  awful  shock  to  me,  ma'am.  I'd 
never  a-known  Miss  Pauline." 

"  I  am  changed  too,  Harrison.  We  all 
change  in  twenty  years." 

Harrison  shook  his  head  again.  "  Not  like 
her,"  he  said — "  not  like  her." 

Then  he  led  the  way  across  the  hall,  threw 
open  the  drawing-room  door,  with  something  of 
his  old  formality;  said,  "Walk  in,  ma'am,"  quite 
grandly,  and,  after  Mrs.  Annesley  had  walked  in, 
shut  the  door,  and  left  her  alone  with  the  chill 
and  the  darkness — for  it  was  both  chill  and 
dark  after  the  glowing  softness  of  the  outer  air. 


Standing  where  she  had  been  left,  the  lady 
looked  round  and  shivered,  as  if  with  a  sudden 
ague.  This  was  one  of  the  suite  of  reception, 
rooms,  which  she  well  remembered — the  first  one 
looking  to  the  front — but  the  curtains  were  looped 
back  from  the  arch  that  divided  it  from  the  ad- 
joining apartment ;  and,  when  her  eyes  grew  ac- 
customed to  the  dim  light,  she  gazed  straight  into 
the  room  where  she  had  been  married — straight 
at  the  very  table  near  which  she  had  stood,  and 
at  the  very  pattern  of  the  carpet  which  she  had 
traced  with  her  downcast  eyes  while  the  cere- 
mony proceeded.  Nay,  not  more  than  a  few 
steps  from  her,  was  the  sofa  upon  which  she 
sat  when  Edgar  Annesley  asked  her  to  be  hia 
wife,  and  told  her,  in  his  frank,  honorable  way. 
that,  although  he  could  never  love  her  as  he  had 
once  loved  her  cousin,  yet  he  would  be  to  her  a 
true  and  tender  husband.  There  was  the  piano 
on  which  she  had  so  often  played  duets  with 
Pauline — there  was  her  aunt's  favorite  chair ; 
and  there  her  uncle's  whist-table.  Turn  where 
she  would,  some  memory  of  the  past  assailed 
her ;  and  exclaiming  impatiently,  "  It  is  worse 
than  meeting  a  procession  of  ghosts  ! "  she  sud- 
denly crossed  the  room,  and  threw  open  an  end 
window.  The  sunshine  streamed  in  as  if  glad 
of  an  entrance ;  and  then  she  perceived  the  rav- 
ages of  time — the  mildewed  walls,  the  moth- 
eaten  furniture,  the  faded  curtains.  "  Repairs 
are  needed  worse  than  I  thought,"  she  said,  half 
aloud ;  and,  as  she  said  it,  she  fell  to  thinking 
how  well  these  lofty  rooms  would  look  newly 
fitted ;  how  admirably  a  rich  deep  green  would 
do  for  the  one  in  which  she  stood ;  and  how  well 
green  became  the  blond  beauty  of  Irene  Vernon 
— the  girl  of  all  others  whom  she  most  wished  to 
see  her  son's  wife.  She  was  so  engrossed  by 
these  fancies,  that  the  opening  of  the  door  did 
not  rouse  her,  standing  as  she  was  with  her 
back  to  it ;  neither  did  a  quiet  step  which  crossed 
the  apartment ;  and  it  was  not  until  a  light  touch 
fell  on  her  arm,  that  she  started,  turned,  and 
stood  face  to  face  with  the  cousin  from  whom 
she  had  parted  twenty  years  before. 

They  stood  and  looked  at  each  other — neither 
speaking  for  a  moment.  They  had  lived  together 
in  the  past  as  intimately  as  sisters ;  but  neither 
of  them  had  ever  entertained  a  sister's  regard  for 
the  other.  Therefore,  they  felt  no  affectionate 
impulse  to  rush  into  each  other's  arms ;  and, 
honest  in  the  present  as  in  the  past,  they  did  not 
feign  it.  They  did  not  break  into  any  noisy 
greetings,  or  take  refuge  in  the  commonplaces 
of  ordinary  welcome ;  they  did  not  even  shake 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


hands — they  only  stood  and  looked  at  the  faces 
over  which  twenty  years  had  passed. 

A  greater  contrast  than  these  two  faces  pre- 
Bented  it  would  be  hard  to  imagine — one  so  hand- 
some and  well  preserved,  so  smooth  of  skin,  so 
clear  of  outline,  so  suave  and  smiling  of  aspect, 
with  not  a  silver  thread  in  the  shining  black 
hair,  or  even  an  incipient  crow's-foot  around 
the  cold  black  eyes ;  the  other  so  worn  and  hag- 
gard, so  deeply  lined  and  darkened  over,  so  be- 
reft of  all  beauty  save  the  mould  of  feature  and 
the  magic  of  glance,  so  stamped  with  the  dreary 
stamp  of  suffering,  so  marked  with  the  bitter 
signet  of  anguish,  so  utterly  lost  to  all  the  bright 
bravery  of  the  world,  that,  save  for  a  proud  no- 
bility which  still  dwelt  in,  and  redeemed  it — save 
for  the  lovely  pathos  of  the  eyes,  and  the  haughty 
curve  of  the  lips — there  was  no  depth  of  tragedy 
in  which  it  was  not  possible  to  fancy  that  this 
woman  might  have  played  a  part. 

This,  at  least,  was  the  first  tangible  idea  which 
came  to  Mrs.  Annesley's  mind,  as  she  saw  that 
not  even  Harrison's  dismal  prophecy  had  pre- 
pared her  for  the  extent  of  the  change,  and  as 
she  recognized  how  far  below  the  surface  that 
change  had  struck.  This  her  cousin  !  This  Pau- 
line Morton  !  Tliis  the  girl  who  had  gone  away 
in  the  spring-tide  splendor  of  her  youth  and 
beauty  !  "  Good  God  !  I  can  believe  any  thing 
of  her  now  !  "  she  thought,  as  she  gazed  in  mute 
dismay  on  that  world-worn  face. 

It  was  Mrs.  Gordon  who  first  broke  the 
silence. 

"  How  little  changed  you  are,  Elinor  !  "  she 
said,  in  a  rich,  sweet  voice  ;  "  and  how  it  brings 
back  the  old  time  to  see  you  again — here  ! " 

"  But  you ! "  cried  Mrs.  Annesley,  thrown  for 
once  entirely  beyond  the  range  of  her  usual  con- 
ventionalities— "  you  !  Pauline,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  what  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself  that 
you  look  like  this  ?  " 

"  Am  I  so  very  much  changed,  then  ?  "  asked 
her  cousin,  with  a  smile — oh,  so  different  from 
the  smile  that  shadowy  beauty  had  worn  who 
stood  in  the  door-way  and  greeted  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley half  an  hour  before  ! 

"  Changed  ! "  She  stopped,  abruptly  ;  but 
the  tone  that  said  that  much  had  said  enough. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  the 
other,  taking  her  hand,  leaned  forward,  and 
lightly  kissed  her  cheek. 

"  Yours  is  the  first  kindred  face  I  have  seen," 
she  said,  gently,  yet  with  a  certain  dignity.  "  Let 
me  bid  you  welcome  to  Morton  House." 

And  in  the  tone,  the  action,  there  was  that 


which  took  the  ground  from  beneath  Mrs.  Anne* 
ley's  feet.  She  had  come,  meaning  to  patronize 
with  all  the  grandiloquent  patronage  of  her 
changed  position ;  and  one  second  seemed  t- 
place  her  back  on  the  old  level,  to  which  Pau 
line  Morton  had  once  bent  with  this  same  stately 
grace,  but  never  succeeded  in  making  her  cousin 
forget  that  she  did  bend.  For  an  instant,  Mrs. 
Annesley  caught  her  breath  ;  for  an  instant,  she 
almost  forgot  that  she  was  not  again  the  penni- 
less relation  who  was  bidden  welcome  to  a  home 
she  might  share,  but  never  inherit.  Then  she 
recovered  herself,  and  returned  her  cousin's 
caress  with  more  effusion  than  that  cousin's 
manner  seemed  to  warrant. 

"  My  dear  Pauline,  those  words  are  more  mine 
than  yours.  Welcome,  indeed — welcome  to  your 
old  home  and  your  old  friends  ! " 

"  Thank  you,  Elinor,"  her  cousin  replied, 
quietly.  "  Pray  sit  down." 

"  Of  course,  I  should  have  come  to  you  at 
once,  if  I  ha^  not  been  ill — really  ill.  I  am  here 
to-day  in  defiance  of  the  doctor." 

"  Indeed !  I  should  not  think  you  looking 
badly.  But  it  was  one  of  your  old  nervous  at- 
tacks, I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  one  of  my  old  nervous  attacks,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Aunesley,  unblushingly.  "  They  seem 
to  grow  worse  as  I  grow  older." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that. — You  must  be 
tired  by  your  drive.  I  will  order  some  refresh- 
ment." 

She  moved  away  a  few  steps  to  ring  a  bell, 
and  Mrs.  Annesley  had  a  good  opportunity  for 
observing  how  straight  and  rigid  was  the  dress 
she  wore,  how  hideous  the  cap  that  covered  all 
save  a  little  of  the  hair  so  thickly  sown  with 
gray,  and  how  every  harmless  beautifier  of  the 
toilet  seemed  sternly  banished  from  the  costume. 
When  she  returned,  the  latter  said,  wonder- 
ingly : 

"  Have  you  turned  Romanist,  Pauline,  and 
are  you  going  to  establish  a  nunnery,  that  you 
dress  in  such  a  style  as  this  ?  You  look  like  a 
nun,  I  assure  you." 

"  If  you  had  ever  seen  a  nun,  Elinor,  you 
would  not  think  so,"  the  other  answered,  with  a 
faint  smile.  "  A  nun's  face  is  always  sweet  and 
serene — not  world-battered  and  world-worn,  like 
mine." 

"  Then,  what  do  you  mean  by  this  ?  "  and  the 
gloved  hand  touched  the  black  fabric  near  it. 

"  I  only  mean  that  I  have  renounced  the 
world  as  much  as  if  I  had  gone  into  a  clois- 
ter." 


AFTER  TWENTY   TEARS. 


"  My  dear  Pauline  !  " 

"  Does  that  surprise  you,  Elinor  ?  Ah !  you 
have  not  drunk  the  dregs  of  life,  as  I  have." 

"  Surprise  me  ?  Of  course,  it  surprises  me. 
But  I  don't  understand." 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  you  do.  I  hope  there 
are  not  many  people  who  would  fully  understand. 
— Do  you  know  what  I  have  come  back  here 
for  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  ?  " 

"  True,  how  should  you !  Well,  I  will  tell 
you ;  for  I  want  to  make  my  intention  clear  to 
all  whom  it  may  concern,  and  you  are  one  of 
those  whom  it  does  concern.  I  have  come  back 
to  bury  myself." 

"  Pauline ! " 

"  Is  there  any  thing  strange  in  that  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Gordon,  with  another  faint,  flitting  smile. 
"  Women  have  done  such  things  before — the 
nuns  of  whom  we  spoke,  for  instance." 

Mrs.  Annesley  did  not  answer.  She  gazed 
at  her  cousin  with  blank  amazement,  and  yet 
nvore  blank  apprehension,  which  might  in  time 
have  found  expression,  if  the  door  had  not  been 
suddenly  burst  open,  and  a  boy  of  eight  or  nine 
years  old — a  magnificent  incarnation  of  blooming 
health  and  beauty — rushed  into  the  room,  ex- 
claiming, "  Mamma  !  "  and  did  not  pause  until 
he  stood  by  his  mother's  side,  staring  with  un- 
abashed eyes  at  the  elegant  stranger. 

"  Oh,  what  a  handsome  child ! "  cried  Mrs. 
Annesley,  surprised  for  once  into  an  enthusiastic 
truth.  "  Pauline,  is  this  your  boy  ?  How  like 
you  he  is  !  and  yet,  how  unlike  !  " 

"  He  is  not  like  me  at  all,"  Mrs.  Gordon  an- 
swered, in  a  hard  voice.  Then  it  softened  sud- 
denly, as  she  turned  to  the  child.  "  Felix,  go 
and  speak  to  that  lady  ;  she  is  your  cousin." 

Felix  did  as  he  was  told — extending  a  hand 
by  no  means  very  clean,  but  given  with  the  grace 
of  a  y,  ung  prince. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  cousin,"  he  said, 
quite  loftily. 

And,  while  Mrs.  Annesley  surreptitiously 
wiped  her  fingers  on  her  handkerchief,  she 
turned  again  to  her  companion  : 

"  What  charming  manners  he  has  !  If  he 
does  not  resemble  yourself — and  I  can  see  now 
that  he  does  not — I  suppose  he  looks  like  his 
father." 

"  Yes,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

"  Poor  child  !  How  young  to  be  fatherless  ! 
I  presume  he  cannot  even  remember — Mr.  Gor- 
ion  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  remembers  him,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon, 


quietly. — "Felix,  go  and  ask  Harrison  if  he  did 
not  hear  the  bell." 

"  He  heard  it,  mamma,"  said  Felix,  prompt- 
ly. "  He's  cutting  the  cake ;  and  1  came  to  ask 
you  if  I  mayn't  have  some  wine — he  won't  give 
me  any." 

"  Certainly  not.  You  can  have  cake — not 
wine." 

"  I  don't  care  about  cake,  mamma." 

"There  is  no  necessity  for  you  to  eat  it, 
then,  my  dear.  But  we  shall  see  if  your  resolu- 
tion lasts  when  it  comes — and  here  it  is." 

As  she  spoke,  Harrison  made  his  appear- 
ance, bearing  a  salver  on  wliich  were  set  forth 
the  orthodox  cake  and  wine  of  country  hospital- 
ity— the  former  in  rich  silver  baskets,  and  the 
latter  in  slender,  old-fashioned  wine-glasses. 
While  Mrs.  Annesley  refreshed  herself  with  a 
glass  of  the  golden  sherry  that  had  been  mel- 
lowing in  the  cellars  of  Morton  House  for  forty 
years,  exchanging  with  her  cousin  a  few  matter- 
of-course  remarks  about  the  weather,  expatiat- 
ing on  the  beauty  of  the  child,  who  was  still 
present,  and  even  upon  the  becoming  costume 
he  wore,  she  was  revolving  in  her  mind  the 
altered  aspect  which  the  last  few  minutes  had 
given  to  the  hopes  she  had  so  long  and  so  san- 
guinely  entertained. 

How  easy  it  is  to  arrange  mentally  a  supposi- 
titious scene  and  conversation !  But  when  was 
such  scene  or  conversation  ever  enacted  as  ar- 
ranged ?  From  the  moment  in  which  she  heard 
of  her  cousin's  return,  Mrs.  Annesley's  busy 
fancy  had  been  going  over  and  over  again  a  re- 
hearsal of  the  present  interview ;  and  each  time 
she  had  acquitted  herself  to  her  own  entire  satis- 
faction. She  had  spoken — suavely  patronizing, 
but  uncompromising  in  her  demands  ;  her  cousin 
had  answered — gratefully  submissive.  Not  a 
shade  of  doubt  or  distrust  of  her  own  powers 
had  crossed  her  mind ;  she  had  believed  herself 
to  be  absolute  mistress  of  the  situation.  And, 
alas !  the  very  first  tone  of  her  cousin's  voice, 
and  glance  at  her  cousin's  face — changed  so  in- 
conceivably though  that  face  was — showed  her 
the  mistake  she  had  made,  the  self-delusion  with 
which  she  had  been  pleasing  herself.  Memory 
had  played  her  false — memory,  and  the  vanity 
that  had  been  fostered  by  years  of  uncheckered 
prosperity.  At  the  first  glance,  she  recognized 
the  fact  that  the  Pauline  with  whom  she  had 
been  holding  her  imaginary  conversations  was 
but  a  lay-figure,  an  automaton  of  her  own  crea- 
tion, which  had  moved,  breathed,  trembled,  yield- 
ed, as  her  own  inclination  pulled  the  wires  upon 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


which  she  had  suspended  it.  The  Pajline  be- 
fore her — ah  !  how  could  she  have  forgotten  that 
haughty  nature  so  strangely  as  to  dream  of  gain- 
ing a  moment's  ascendency  over  it?  She  felt 
that  she  was  defeated  even  before  she  had  struck  I 
one  blow  in  furtherance  of  her  "  plan.1  This 
resolution  of  retirement  from  the  world — why,  it 
destroyed  every  vestige,  even  to  the  very  founda- 
tions, of  the  fabric  she  had  so  remorselessly 
reared  !  The  old,  bitter  hate  and  envy — the  old, 
still  more  rankling  sense  of  impotence  to  harm, 
even  to  move,  this  woman,  who  had  always 
seemed  so  unconscious,  if  not  contemptuous,  of 
her  enmity — rushed"  over  her  soul  in  a  tide  of 
almost  suffocating  passion.  Baffled — defeated — 
now,  as  ever  before !  She  could  have  gnashed 
her  teeth  in  fury !  Baffled — just  when  she 
thought  success  certain !  And  must  she  sub- 
mit unresistingly  ?  Might  she  not  sting,  wound, 
if  she  could  not  subdue,  this  proud  nature  ?  She 
would  see. 

"  Felix,  my  dear,  you  make  too  much  noise. 
Go  to  Babette,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  as  the 
boy  began  a  romp  with  the  little  spaniel  which 
had  followed  him  into  the  room.  "  Go  ! "  < 

"  Yes,  mamma."   And  he  obediently  departed. 

Mrs.  Annesley  cleared  her  throat  nervously, 
rose,  and  set  down  the  wine-glass  from  which  she 
had  been  sipping,  and,  returning  to  her  chair, 
drew  it  a  little  nearer  to  her  cousin's  before  she 
again  seated  herself.  Then,  laying  her  hand  on 
the  sleeve  of  the  close  black  dress,  she  said,  con- 
fidentially : 

"  My  dear  Pauline,  you  quite  took  away  my 
breath  by  what  you  said  just  now.  I  am  glad 
you  sent  the  child  out,  so  that  we  can  talk  freely. 
Surely,  you  do  not  mean  that  you  intend  re- 
nouuciug  society  altogether  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  mean." 

"  Impossible  1  impossible  ! "  cried  Mra.  An- 
nesley, assuming  an  expression  of  grave  remon- 
strance. "  Why,  what  would  the  world  say  ?  " 

"  The  world  of  Lagrange,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Your  own  old  friends,  and  those  of 
your  parents." 

"  If  the  subject  interests  them  sufficiently 
for  them  to  say  any  thing,  I  suppose  it  will  be 
Borne  of  the  good-natured  things  which  they 
used  to  say  of  me  in  the  old  times.  But  what 
does  it  matter  ?  " 

"  It  matters  every  thing  ! — if  you  do  not  wish 
to  lose  your  reputation." 

Mrs.  Gordon  regarded  her  cousin's  face  for  an 
instant  in  astonishment.  Then  her  brows  con- 
tracted slightly,  and  a  haughty  light  came  into 


her  eyes.  "  My  reputation ! "  she  repealed. 
"  And  pray,  Elinor,  will  you  tell  me  what  pos- 
sible connection  there  is,  or  can  be  made,  be- 
tween my  voluntary  seclusion  and  the  loss  of  my 
reputation  ?  " 

Mrs.  Annesley  paused  a  moment,  partly  be 
cause  she  was  a  little  doubtful  as  to  what  her  next 
words  should  be — partly  with  an  affectation  of  re- 
luctance to  speak.  She  looked  down  at  the  carpet, 
thoughtfully — then  lifted  her  eyes  to  her  cousin's 
countenance,  hoping  to  find  there  signs  of  alarm 
and  perturbation.  She  was  disappointed.  Mrs, 
Gordon  was  waiting  quietly  for  her  to  proceed. 

"  Your  question  places  me  in  a  very  embar- 
rassing, a  very  painful  position,  Pauline,"  she 
began,  with  well-acted  hesitation.  "But  —  I 
think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  plain  speaking 
is  always  best ;  particularly  in  a  case  of  this 
kind,  and  between  friends  and  relatives." 

"  Undoubtedly.  Plain  speaking  is  always 
best  between  people  who  )iave  a  right  to  speak 
plainly  to  each,  other ;  and  friends  and  relatives 
do  possess  this  right,"  answered  Mrs.  Gordon, 
with  the  dignified  simplicity  of  manner  which, 
to  her  cousin's  elaborate  mannerism  of  dignity, 
seemed,  as  it  always  had  seemed,  like  virgin 
gold  to  pinchbeck. 

Mrs.  Annesley  cleared  her  throat  again,  and, 
lifting  the  top  of  her  vinaigrette,  bent  her  head 
and  inhaled  the  salts  before  she  replied,  slowly: 

"  My  dear  Paufine,  I  do  not  know  whether 
you  are  aware  that,  to  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
your  life  is  veiled  in  profound  mystery ;  that, 
until  your  return,  your  friends  -vere  ignorant  of 
the  very  name  of  the  man  yv.i  ..arried;  that, 
even  now,  the  name  itself  is  all  that  is  known. 
Under  these  circumstances,  is  it  much  to  be 
wondered  at  that  some  very  unpleasant  reports 
have  crept  into  circulation  ? — reports  which  you 
would  be  shocked  to  hear,  my  dear,  I  assure 
you !  And,  if  you  take  this  strange  s  jp  of 
secluding  yourself  from  the  world,  I  cannot 
answer  for  the  consequences." 

Mrs.  Gordon  had  listened  unmoved  to  her 
cousin's  words,  until  Mrs.  Annesley  came  to  the 
last  sentence.  She  smiled  then — not  scornfully, 
but  with  a  sort  of  half-sad  amusement. 

"  Human  nature  is  the  same  all  the  world 
over  I  "  she  said.  "  In  the  little  stagnant  pool, 
as  in  the  great  ocean  of  life,  impertinent  curios- 
ity and  gratuitous  ill-nature  are  the  most  marked 
features  of '  society.'  But,  my  dear  Elinor,  I  am 
surprised  that  you  should  have  forgotten  all 
about  my  character  so  entirely  as  to  imagine 
that  the  '  opinion  of  the  world '  could  move  me. 


AFTER   TWENTY  YEARS. 


25 


or  give  me  a  moment's  uneasiness.  Don't  you 
remember  how  I  used  to  shock  you  with  my  dis- 
regard for  the  ideas  and  dicta  of  this  narrow 
world  around  us  ?  And  do  you  think  it  likely 
that  a  cosmopolitan  life  of  twenty  years  has 
taught  me  to  rate  its  importance  more  highly  ?  " 

"  Good  Heavens,  Pauline  !  You  do  not  know, 
you  do  not  realize  what  you  are  disregarding! — 
what  the  reports  are — "  began  Mrs.  Annesley, 
with  a  consternation  which  was  perfectly  genu- 
ine— for  more  and  more  did  she  realize  that  her 
anticipated  power  over  her  cousin  had  been  a 
chimera  of  self-flattery.  But  Mrs.  Gordon  inter- 
posed, quietly : 

"  I  have  no  more  curiosity  now  than  formerly 
about  Lagrange  gossip.  If  it  amuses  people  to 
talk  about  me,  I  have  no  objection  to  their  en- 
joying that  gratification." 

"  But,  surely,  you  object  to  setting  a  stain  on 
your  good  name  ! — on  the  Morton  honor  ! "  cried 
Mrs.  Annesley,  driven  beyond  all  self-control  by 
the  careless  indifference  with  which  the  other 
spoke. 

Mrs.  Gordon's  lip  curled  in  a  disdain  so  con- 
temptuous that  her  cousin  shrank  abashed  with 
that  consciousness  of  utter  discomfiture  in  all 
endeavor  to  annoy,  which  had  been  so  familiar 
and  so  galling  to  her  in  the  old  days,  while  the 
former  said,  sternly : 

"  I  have  returned  to  my  old  home,  soul-weary 
and  grief-stricken — to  seek  the  shelter  of  my 
father's  roof,  as  people  sometimes  quit  the 
world  for  a  cloister.  You  tell  me  that  the  '  old 
friends '  of  my  parents  and  myself  are  bandying 
about  '  reports  '  concerning  me ;  that  they  '  know 
nothing  of  my  life,'  and  yet  are  slandering  it ! 
Well,  I  answer  that  their  gossip  and  slander  are 
less  to  me  than  the  hum  of  the  insects  around 
him  to  the  anchorite  of  the  desert ;  that,  for  the 
people  who  disseminate  or  believe  slanders  so 
false,  so  malicious,  so  unprovoked — who  dare  to 
suspect  my  father's  daughter  of  any  act  unworthy 
of  his  name  and  honor — I  entertain  a  contempt 
too  profound  for  it  to  be  any  thing  but  passive." 

Mrs.  Annesley  was  effectually  silenced ;  but 
her  countenance  showed  so  plainly  the  dismay, 
mortification,  and  chagrin,  by  which  she  was  lit- 
erally overwhelmed,  that  Mrs.  Gordon,  reading 
the  expression  (though  not,  of  course,  its  cause), 
and  attributing  it  to  a  fear  of  being  personally 
compromised,  said  gravely,  but  kindly  : 

"  I  know,  my  dear  Elinor,  that  your  ideas 
and  mine  do  not  agree  as  to  the  value  of  the 
world's  opinion.  And,  if  you  fear  that,  you  may 
yourself  incur  the  censure  of  this  opinion — " 


r  "  Pauline,  how  can  you  wrong  me  by  imagin- 
ing that  I  am  thinking  of  myself  in  the  matter! 
It  was  alarm  for  you  which,  ill  as  I  felt  this  morn- 
ing, urged  me  to  the  exertion  of  showing  the 
world  at  once  my  position  toward  you — my  esti- 
mate of  the  reports  that  are  in  circulation — by 
coming  to  offer  you  the  support  and  advice  of  a 
kinswoman." 

A  smile  of  irrepressible  amusement  swept 
over  Mrs.  Gordon's  face,  brightening  it  into  a 
stronger  likeness  to  its  former  self  than  Mrs. 
Annesley  could  have  believed  it  possible  it  would 
ever  again  wear.  "  And  have  these  good  people 
of  Lagrange  really  proceeded  so  far  in  their  amia- 
ble canvassing  of  my  affairs,  that  you  thought  it 
necessary  to  extend  a  hand  to  save  me  ?  "  she 
said,  with  almost  a  laugh.  "  I  am  afraid  they 
would  be  disappointed,  if  they  knew  how  much 
unnecessary  trouble  they  have  given  themselves. 
My  first  order  to  Harrison,  on  my  arrival,  was, 
that  no  one  but  yourself,  your  children,  and  one 
or  two  of  my  oldest  and  dearest  friends,  were  to 
be  admitted.  To  all  others  he  was  to  say  that, 
being  in  deep  mourning,  and  in  deep  grief — " 
her  lip  quivered  with  anguish  as  she  spoke  the 
last  words — "  I  must  decline  society.  You  see, 
therefore,  that  it  was  premature,  to  say  the  least, 
in  the  social  authorities  of  Lagrange,  to  decree 
ostracism  to  one  who,  for  reasons  entirely  apart 
from  any  consideration  of  their  existence,  had  no 
intention  of  accepting,  far  less  of  asking,  their 
suffrage.  It  was  kind  of  you,  Elinor,"  she  added, 
with  a  perfect  good  faith  that  made  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley wince,  "  to  wish  to  throw  yourself  into  the 
breach  in  my  defence." 

"  It  was  useless,  I  perceive,"  answered  Mrs. 
Annesley,  endeavoring  to  regain  her  usual  man- 
ner, "  if  you  persist  in  this  strange  resolution  you 
have  expressed.  Nothing,  which  I  could  say  01 
do  would  have  any  effect  in  righting  the  public 
sentiment,  so  long  as  you  maintain  the  mystery 
which  was  the  cause  of  these  dreadful  reports 
If  you  would  only  authorize  me  to  contradict 
them— to— " 

"  Excuse  me,"  interposed  Mrs.  Gordon,  quiet 
ly.  "It  is  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to 
me." 

"  But  for  my  sake ! "  urged  Mrs.  Annesley, 
who  remembered  well  that  she  had  many  a  time 
gained  concessions  from  Pauline's  generosity, 
which  Pauline's  pride  would  never  have  made — • 
"  for  my  sake,  Pauline !  Think  what  an  embar- 
rassing position  I  am  placed  in.  Pray,  recon- 
sider your  resolution ! " 

"  My  dear  Elinor,  I  cannot  do  that,"  answered 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


her  cousin.  "  I  came  here,  as  I  told  you,  to  seek 
rest.  I  married  very  unhappily,  and  have  suf- 
fered muoh — have  suffered  so  terribly  that,  But 
for  the  sake  of  my  child,  I  think  I  could  not  have 
lived  through  all  I  have  endured.  This  explana- 
tion I  make  to  yourself — not  for  the  benefit  of 
the  gossips  who,  it  seems,  are  busying  them- 
selves with  my  name.  Yourself,  and  the  few  old 
friends  who,  I  think,  have  a  right  to  that  con- 
sideration from  me,  shall  be  always  welcome 
here,  if — "  she  smiled — "  you  and  they  are  not 
afraid  to  brave  public  opinion  by  coming." 

"You  do  me  injustice  by  the  doubt  you  im- 
ply," said  Mrs.  Annesley,  quickly.  "But,  for 
thiit  matter,  you  always  did  me  injustice." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  said  her  cousin,  with  a  softer  light 
coming  into  her  eyes,  and  a  softer  tone  into  her 
voice.  "  Perhaps  I  did ;  for  I  was  very  prone  to 
rash  judgment  in  those  wilful  early  days.  I 
sometimes  think  that  all  I  have  endured  since 
has  only  been  a  just  punishment  for  the  faults  I 
cherished  then.  I  am  glad  to  believe  I  did  you 
injustice,  and  to  beg  your  pardon  for  it.  Forgive 
me,  Elinor — and  let  us  be  friends." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  Mrs.  Annesley 
could  not  decline  to  take  it.  But  she  hesitated 
a  moment  before  doing  so,  and  paled  slightly, 
as  she  said: 

"  We  won't  talk  of  the  past,  Pauline,  for  I 
dare  say  the  fault  of  our  misunderstandings  was 
as  much  mine  as  yours.  Tell  me  about  poor, 
dear  Alfred.  1  was  so  shocked  to  hear  of  his — " 

"  Death,"  she  would  have  said,  had  not  the 
sudden  ghastly  change  that  came  over  her  cous- 
in's face  stopped  the  word.  It  was  not  the  acute 
grief  which  cannot  bear  any  mention  of  its  be- 
reavement from  careless  lips,  but  the  presence 
of  an  unutterable  horror,  which  blanched  the 
cheek,  and  gave  so  deep  an  agony  to  the  eye, 
that  Mrs.  Annesley  saw  she  had  made  a  great 
mistake,  and  stammered  hastily : 

"  Pardon  me ;  I  did  not  mean — " 

Then  Mrs.  Gordon  seemed  to  rally  with  an 
almost  convulsive  effort ;  and,  after  a  minute, 
spoke  hoarsely : 

"  It  does  not  matter.  I — I  only  have  not 
learned  to  bear  the  mention  of  his  name.  Yes, 
he  is  dead.  Be  kind,  Elinor — do  not  ask  me  any 
more." 

Mrs.  Annesley  could  not  disregard  such  a  re- 
quest. She  was  silent  for  some  time  ;  half  from 
astonishment,  half  from  offended  pride  at  her 
cousin's  reserve.  Then  she  gathered  her  wrap- 
pings round  her,  and  rose  with  that  motion 
which  indicates  departure. 


"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  stay  longer,"  she  said, 
"  but  I  dare  not  risk  over-fatiguing  myself.  1 
will  come  soon  again,  however." 

"Pray  do,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  cordially. 
"  Give  my  love  to  Morton  and  Adela.  Are  they 
not  with  you  now  ?  " 

"  Morton  lives  with  me,  but  he  is  not  at  home 
just  now.  He  has  been  absent  for  a  week  or 
two.  Adela  is  married,  and  lives  in  Mobile," 
replied  Mrs.  Annesley,  telling  the  truth — but 
not  the  whole  truth.  "  Do  you  remember  your 
old  admirer,  Colonel  French  ?  Well,  one  of  his 
sons  died,  and  Adela  married  the  other — a  very 
good  match  indeed." 

"Colonel  French — the  wealthy  widower,  as 
you  used  to  call  him?  How  strangely  such 
news  makes  me  feel.  To  think  that  Adela 
should  be  married — and  to  one  of  those  little 
boys ! " 

"I  ought  to  feel  old,  ought  I  not?  And 
yet—" 

"  And  yet  you  feel  young,  looking  at  me.  Is 
it  not  so  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  say  that,  I  assure  you ; 
but  you  do  look  shockingly.  I  hope  you  will 
seem  more  like  yourself  when  I  see  you  again. 
Good-by.  I  cannot  tempt  you  even  to  Aunea 
dale  ?  " 

"  Not  even  to  Annesdale." 

They  shook  hands,  parted — if  any  thing  more 
coldly  than  they  had  met — and,  ten  minutes  after- 
ward,  the  Annesley  carriage  was  rolling  out  of 
the  Morton  gates. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHAT     MORTON     SAID. 

"!T  is  a  good  thing  that  Morton  is  not  at 
home,"  Mrs.  Annesley  had  again  remarked  to 
her  daughter,  when  she  finally  made  up  her 
mind  to  action  in  the  case  of  her  cousin ;  and 
the  event  well  justified  that  self-congratulation. 
A  fortnight  after  the  visit  in  which  she  had  been 
so  signally  worsted,  Morton  returned,  and,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  asserted  his  right  of 
interference  as  head  of  the  house. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  when  they  were  at  break 
fast  on  the  morning  after  his  arrival,  and  the  ser 
vants  had  lef|j  the  room — "  Mother,  is  it  true,  as 
I  hear,  that  our*  cousin,  Pauline  Morton,  has  re- 
turned among  us  ?  " 

There  was  something  unusually  grave  and 
formal  in  the  tone  of  this  inquiry,  something 


WHAT   MORTON   SAID. 


which  made  Adela  French  look  up  and  open  her 
eyes ;  but  Mrs.  Annesley  answered  with  admira- 
ble nonchalance  • 

"  Yes,  my  dear  boy,  she  has  really  returned. 
I  forgot  that  we  heard  the  news  the  very  day  you 
left.  How  it  must  have  astonished  you !  It 
was  quite  a  shock  to  me;  but  my  nerves  are 
BO  easily  affected  I  can  stand  very  little.  I  sup- 
pose you  heard  it  in  Tallahoma,  as  you  came 
through  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  heard  it  in  Tallahoma,"  the  young 
man  answered,  "  and,  mother,  I  also  heard  some- 
thing else,  which  cannot  be  true." 

"  It  is  a  very  sad  affair  altogether,  my  dear 
Morton,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley,  quietly  ;  "  but 
there  is  nothing  more  likely  than  that  you  heard 
some  exaggeration  of  the  matter.  What  was 
it?" 

She  asked  the  question  with  honest  indiffer- 
ence, for,  since  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Gordon,  she  had 
felt,  so  far  as  herself  was  concerned,  upon  safe 
ground.  She  knew  that  she  had  always  been  to 
Morton  a  sort  of  enthroned  divinity,  who  could 
do  no  wrong ;  and  it  was  evident  that  he  hesi- 
tated now  before  saying  any  thing  which  might 
seem  even  the  mildest  censure  on  her  conduct. 
At  last,  however,  he  spoke. 

"  I  heard  in  Tallahoma  that  our  cousin  " — he 
uttered  the  last  two  words  with  emphasis — "  has 
come  back  to  her  old  home,  without  having  re- 
ceived any  welcome  from  her  old  friends ;  and 
that  even  you,  mother,  have  failed  to  give  her 
one." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  know  by  this  time 
how  much  reliance  is  to  be  placed  in  Tallahoma 
gossip,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley.  "As  usual  they 
have  told  you  something  entirely  without  foun- 
dation ;  and  " — with  gentle  reproach — "  I  cannot 
help  thinking  it  strange  that  you  should  credit 
such  a  thing  of  me." 

"  I  did  not  credit  it !  "  said  the  young  man, 
eagerly.  "  I  was  only  afraid  that  it  might  be  so, 
because  public  opinion  seems  dealing  so  hardly 
with  this  poor  woman.  And  you  have  been  to 
see  her,  then  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  have,"  answered  she,  promptly. 
"  How  could  I  possibly  neglect  such  a  duty  ? 
We  were  raised  together  as  sisters,  you  remem- 
ber." 

"And  has  she  been  here?  Mother,  she 
ought  to  be  here  now." 

"  Morton  ! — what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  answered  Morton,  quickly,  "  that 
when  a  woman  is  slandered  is  the  time,  of  all 
others,  for  her  kindred  to  close  around  her ;  and 


that  Pauline  Morton's  proper  place  now  is  under 
this  roof." 

"  But,  good  Heavens  !  why  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  he  repeated  in  surprise.  "  Dear 
mother,  don't  you  know  why  ?  Don't  you  know 
that  she  is  doubted,  suspected,  slandered,  if  you 
will  have  a  plain  word  ;  and  that  it  is  only  thus 
we  can  pay  the  debt  of  gratitude  we  owe  to  those 
whose  roof  once  sheltered  you  ?  " 

He  looked  like  a  young  paladin,  with  the 
kindling  fire  on  his  handsome  face,  and  the  shin- 
ing light  in  his  dark  eyes ;  and  even  his  mother's 
heart  was  touched  as  he  lowered  his  voice  over 
the  last  words. 

"  My  son,  you  do  not  understand,"  she  said, 
in  a  grave,  troubled  voice — for  it  was  never  her 
policy  to  come  to  an  issue  with  Morton,  "  you  do 
not  understand — and  you  should  trust  to  me  in 
this  matter." 

"  You  know  how  much  I  trust  to  you,"  he 
answered.  "  But  in  this  matter — " 

"  Why  do  you  think  it  necessary  to  take  up 
your  cousin's  cause  with  so  much  zeal  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Annesley,  as  he  hesitated  in  his  sentence. 

"I  thought  I  had  already  explained  what 
really  does  not  seem  to  require  any  explanation. 
Seeing  any  woman  in  a  position  of  social  difficul 
ty,  I  should  not  feel  myself  a  gentleman  if,  be- 
lieving her  injured,  I  did  not  make  at  least  an 
effort  in  her  defence.  And  when  I  see  my  own 
kinswoman,  one  to  whom  I  am  bound  both  by 
ties  of  blood  and  obligations  of  gratitude — 
mother,  can  you  ask  mo  why  I  should  take  up 
her  cause  with  all  the  zeal  of  which  I  am  capa- 
ble ?  " 

"  One  word,  Morton,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley,  who 
had  been  watching  him  during  the  last  speech, 
and  knew  to  a  nicety  how  far  it  was  prudent  to 
carry  open  opposition — "  one  word,  if  you  please. 
Has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  Pauline  Mor- 
ton may  not  be  the  injured  victim  you  seem  to 
consider  her  ?  " 

If  she  had  sent  a  rifle-shot  into  her  son's 
plate,  she  could  not  have  taken  him  more  com- 
pletely by  surprise.  He  looked  for  one  moment 
in  mute  amazement  at  her  face,  then  a  crimson 
flood  shot  over  his  brow,  and  was  visible  even 
beneath  the  black  curls  that  rested  on  it. 

"  Mother ! " 

"  Don't  misunderstand  me,"  said  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley, quietly.  "  Don't  think  that  I  mean  any  thing 
moie  than  I  say.  I  only  repeat  my  question — 
has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  Pauline  Mor- 
ton may  not  be  that  injured  victim  which  you 
seem  to  consider  her  ?  " 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"No,1  (.nswered  he.  "Is  she  not  a  Mor- 
ton?" 

"  She  Is,  indeed.  But,  in  short,  as  I  told  you 
before,  you  had  better  trust  to  me  in  this  mat- 
ter." 

"  And,  as  I  told  you  before,  that  is  impossi- 
bly" he  replied.  "  Tell  me  what  you  meant  by 
such  a  question.1' 

But,  what  Mrs.  Annesley  meant,  it  was  very 
hard — indeed,  impossible — for  her  to  explain  in 
Morton's  straightforward  fashion;  for  her  only 
red  meaning  had  been  to  impress  him  with  a 
belief  that  the  matter  was  too  delicate  for  his 
management.  She  hesitated  before  answering; 
and  then  said  more  than  she  had  perhaps  in- 
tended to  say. 

"  I  only  meant,  Morton,  that  I  am  sure  you 
would  not  like  to  force  me  into  giving  counte- 
nance to  a  woman  who  may  not  deserve  it." 

"  God  'forbid  !  "  said  Morton,  hastily.  "  But, 
mother,  surely  you  consider  what  you  are  say- 
mg?" 

"  Is  it  likely  I  would  not  consider  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Annesley,  dreadfully  conscious  that  the  exi- 
gence of  the  occasion  was  forcing  her  into  doing 
just  the  opposite.  But  then  it  was  so  necessary 
to  quiet  Morton  by  saying  something. — "  Is  it 
likely  I  would  not  consider?  Ah,  you  don't 
know  how  I  have  suffered  about  this,  or  you 
would  never  reproach  me  for  not  doing  more." 

"  Reproach  you !  My  dear  mother,  I  must 
hare  expressed  myself  very  badly  if  you  think  I 
meant  to  reproach  you.  Pray  forgive  me,  if  I 
hare  been  h.isty  or  disrespectful — but  I  feel  this 
matter  so  deeply." 

"  You  cannot  feel  it  more  deeply  than  I  do," 
•aid  Mr*.  Annesley,  putting  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes.  "  My  poor  aunt,  and  my  dear  uncle, 
what  a  blessed  thing  it  is  that  they  did  not  live 
to  see  this  day !  You  may  think  me  unfeeling, 
Morton,  but  Adcla  there  could  tell  you  that  I 
hare  been  really  ill,  and  about  nothing  else  but 
this  affair." 

"  I  could  as  soon  suspect  a  saint  of  being  un- 
feeling," said  Morton,  much  concerned,  but  smil- 
ing a  little. 

"  Selfish,  then,  when  I  had  only  your  welfare 
at  heart.** 

"  You  could  not  be  felfish  if  you  tried.  But 
I  really  don't  see  what  my  welfare  had  to  do 
with  the  matter." 

No,  he  did  not  see  In  the  least,  and,  what  was 
more,  Mrs.  Annesley  dared  not  enlighten  him. 
She  knew  how  much  he  desired  to  own  Morton 
House,  but  she  also  knew  that  Morton  House 


would  be  worse  than  valueless  to  him  if  he  once 
suspected  that  it  had  been  won  by  such  means 
as  those  she  had  not  scrupled  to  propose  to  her- 
self. 

"  I  only  mean,"  she  hastily  corrected,  "  that 
neither  you  nor  I  can  help  a  woman  who  is  so 
utterly  reckless  that  she  will  not  help  herself." 

"  And  Pauline  Morton  ?  " 

"  Pauline  Morton  refuses  absolutely  to  accept 
any  aid  that  we  can  give  her." 

"  Refuses  !  How  ?  Pray  be  more  explicit,  if 
only  in  consideration  of  my  stupidity." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  be  more  explicit,  Mor 
ton.  She  distinctly  declines  to  give  any  explana- 
tion of  her  singular  appearance  among  us,  of  the 
death  of  her  brother,  or  of  the  absence  of  hei 
husband — indeed,  whether  he  is  alive  or  dead, 
nobody  knows.  She  looks  as  if  she  might  have 
walked  through  a  furnace  of  fire,  or  been  buried 
alive  and  dug  up  again,  or  lived  in  garrets  on 
crusts  of  bread,  or — or  done  any  thing !  And 
she  will  neither  receive  her  friends  nor  accept 
any  hospitality  they  offer." 

Morton,  who  had  risen  from  the  table,  was 
now  standing  with  one  hand  on  the  back  of  his 
chair,  and  he  did  not  speak  for  several  minutes. 
Then  he  said,  slowly : 

"  Well,  all  this  only  proves  that  she  has  suf- 
fered, nothing  more.  Surely  we  may  respect  this 
suffering  sufficiently  to  refrain  from  prying  into 
it.  Can  the  gossips  say  nothing  more  of  her 
than  this  ?  " 

"  You  can  best  answer  that  question,"  said 
Mrs.  Annesley,  stiffly.  "  I  am  not  likely  to  hear 
what  gossips  say  of  my  own  cousin.  But  I  think 
it  is  more  than  ought  to  be  said  of  any  woman." 

"  Mother,  that  does  not  sound  like  you," 
said  her  son,  gently.  "Remember  how  often 
you  have  agreed  with  me  tliat  misfortune  should 
never  be  confounded  with  fault.  We  have  no 
right  to  suspect  more  than  misfortune  here." 

"  Not  if  Pauline  had  come  back  as  her  posi- 
tion demanded  she  should  come — with  some  guar- 
antee for  her  past,  and  some  regard  for  appear- 
ances in  the  present.  Not  if  she — " 

"In  one  word,  if  she  had  not  needed  your 
friendship.  Oh,  mother,  that  I  should  hear  such 
social  cant  from  your  lips  !  Her  old  associates, 
then,  would  have  been  willing  to  extend  their 
hands  to  her,  if  *he  had  not  needed  them  ;  as 
she  does  need  them,  they  consider  that  a  suf- 
ficient reason  for  holding  aloof.  What  a  pitiful 
world  it  is  !  "  said  the  young  man,  with  a  sudden 
scorn  flashing  into  his  face ;  "  and  how  much  it 
is  alike  in  every  place  and  condition  of  life ' 


WHAT   MORTON   SAID. 


29 


Mother,  one  more  question,  and  I  have  done. 
I  am  sure  I  need  not  beg  you  to  answer  me 
frankly.  Do  you,  or  do  you  not,  believe  that 
Pauline  Morton  deserves  the  suspicion  that 
seems  to  have  fallen  upon  her  ?  " 

Was  ever  diplomacy  placed  in  a  more  trying 
position  than  this  ?  Reply  in  the  affirmative 
Mrs.  Annesley  could  not,  without  a  more  daring 
violation  of  truth  than  even  her  conscience 
would  allow ;  and,  to  answer  in  the  negative, 
would  be  to  undo  all  her  previous  work.  Clear- 
ly, then,  the  only  resource  left  was  that  of  eva- 
sion, and  this  she  employed  with  commendable 
quickness. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Morton !  How  can  you  ask 
me  to  decide  such  a  question,  and  about  my  own 
cousin,  too  ?  You  should  be  more  considerate 
of  my— my  feelings ! " 

"  I  am  asking  you  to  be  considerate  of  the 
honor  of  your  name,  mother,"  said  Morton,  half- 
sternly.  "  Do  you  know  what  people  will  say  if 
you  do  not  face  that  question  and  answer  it  bold- 
ly?" 

"  I  must  consult  my  own  conscience,  and  not 
what  people  will  say,"  answered  she,  with  dig- 
nity. 

Morton  took  his  hand  from  the  chair,  and 
made  a  quick  turn  up  and  down  the  room  before 
he  spoke  again.  He  stopped  abruptly  then,  and 
fastened  his  eyes  on  her  face  : 

"  Then,  mother,  you,  too,  doubt  this  poor 
woman  ?  " 

"  Doubt  her  ?  "  She  hesitated  a  moment,  but 
saw  her  way  to  no  other  answer  than  the  truth. 
"  No,  Morton,  I  do  not." 

"  In  that  case,  you  consider  her  unjustly  sus- 
pected— do  you,  mother  ?  " 

There  was  something  truth-compelling  in  the 
direct  question,  in  the  earnest  eyes,  and  still  more 
earnest  voice.  Before  Mrs.  Annesley  knew  what 
she  was  about,  she  had  uttered  a  reluctant 
"  Yes." 

But,  even  after  this,  she  was  not  prepared  for 
what  followed.  She  was  astonished  when  Mor- 
ton crossed  the  floor,  rang  the  bell,  and  said  to 
the  servant  who  answered  it : 

"  The  carriage." 

The  door  had  hardly  closed  before  Mrs.  An- 
nesley cried : 

"  Morton,  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means,"  said  Morton,  "  that  I  am  going 
to  see  our  cousin,  and  that  I  hope  you  will  ac- 
company me  to  urge  her  return  with  us  to  An- 
nesdale." 

His  mother  looked  at  him  in  silent  exaspera- 


tion. If  she  had  given  way  to  her  first  impulse, 
it  would  certainly  have  been  one  of  fierce  re- 
proach, since  anger  was  burning  hotly  enough  in 
her  heart  against  this  ungrateful  return  for  all 
her  exertion.  But  one  thing  which  she  had 
learned  in  life  was  the  folly  of  passion.  So  she 
curbed  herself  with  the  steady  curb  which  long 
habit  had  rendered  easy,  and  answered  quietly: 

"  I  am  afraid  you  must  excuse  me.  Dr.  Rey- 
nolds expressly  forbade  my  leaving  the  house 
until  he  saw  me  again.  Besides,  Morton,  since 
you  absolutely  refuse  to  be  guided  by  me  in  this 
matter,  I  cannot  think  that  I  am  called  upon  to 
expose  myself  to  another  repulse  for  your  sake." 

"  Another  repulse  ?  " 

"  Yes,  another  repulse.  I  thought  I  told  you 
that  Pauline  has  already  declined  the  visit  which 
you  wish  me  to  urge  on  her  a  second  time." 

"  Did  you  really  urge  it  the  first  time,  moth- 
er?" 

"  Did  you  ever  know  me  lacking  in  hospital- 
ity ?  But,  since  you  distrust  me,  go  your  own 
way,  and  find  who  is  right." 

She  spoke  gravely,  but  without  any  touch  of 
pettishness ;  and  Morton  hesitated.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  she  was  right — perhaps,  after  all,  he 
was  wrong.  Who  was  so  likely  to  be  wrong  at 
himself,  thought  the  young  man,  with  the  humil- 
ity which  was  his  most  prominent  characteristic. 
Surely  his  mother  was  better  able  to  judge  of  her 
cousin  than  he  who  had  never  seen  that  cousin. 
In  trying  to  act  up  to  the  standard  of  his  chivalric 
creed,  he  began  to  fear  that  he  had  not  only  been 
very  obstinate,  but  also  very  foolish.  So,  after  a 
pause,  he  spoke  quite  humbly : 

"  I  have  never  done  such  a  thing  as  distrust 
you  in  all  my  life,  mother  ;  and  I  am  sure  I  have 
no  desire  to  go  my  own  way  simply  because  it  is 
my  own  way.  If  you  think  the  invitation  had 
better  not  be  given  just  at  present,  I  am  perfect- 
ly willing  to  defer  it.  But  that  is  no  reason  for 
deferring  my  visit.  Since  you  cannot  accompany 
me,  I  am  sure  Adela  will." 

He  looked  at  his  sister  as  he  spoke;  and 
Mrs.  French  shrugged  her  shoulders,  as  she  an- 
swered carelessly : 

"  Indeed,  I  would  not  advise  you  to  b?  too 
sure,  Morton,  for  I  have  not  an  idea  of  doing  any 
thing  of  the  kind." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  I  don't  choose  to." 

"Adela!"  This  was  Mrs.  Annesley  who 
broke  in  with  a  tone  half-warning,  half-reproach 
ful. 

"  Well,  mamma,"  was  the  saucy  reply,  "  you 


30 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


surely  don't  think  I  am  going  to  let  Morton  tyr- 
annize over  me  as  he  does  over  you  ?  When  one 
doesn't  mind  one's  husband,  one  isn't  likely  to 
mind  one's  brother— do  you  think  so  ?  He  must 
get  him  a  wife,  if  he  wants  somebody  to  go  with 
him  whenever  he  takes  a  fancy  to  visit  super- 
annuated beauties." 

"  I  did  not  ask  you  to  go  as  a  favor  to  my- 
self, Adela,"  said  her  brother,  a  little  haughtily. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  answered  she.  And, 
at  that  moment,  a  servant  opened  the  door  and 
announced  the  carriage. 

"  I  was  wrong,"  said  Morton,  turning  to  her. 
"  I  do  ask  it  as  a  favor  to  myself.  Will  you 
go?" 

"  Not  on  any  account,"  said  the  young  lady, 
with  emphasis.  "Nothing  would  induce  me  to 
go.  I  hate  disagreeable  people — besides,  the 
Raynors  and  Irene  Vernon  will  be  here  to  din- 
ner to-day,  and  I  would  not  tire  myself  out  for 
the  world.  If  you  will  go,  that  is  no  reason  why 
I  should  be  so  silly." 

"  Have  the  carriage  taken  back,  and  my  horse 
brought  out,"  said  Mr.  Annesley  to  the  servant. 

After  this,  there  was  ten  minutes'  rather  un- 
comfortable silence  in  the  room.  It  was  broken 
at  last  by  Adela,  who  had  sauntered  to  the  win- 
dow, and,  with  admirable  nonchalance,  announced 
the  appearance  of  the  horse — adding  the  gratui- 
tous information  that  he  did  not  look  quite  as 
well  groomed  as  usual. 

"  Probably  not ;  those  scamps  grow  careless 
if  I  am  away  from  home  a  week,"  said  her  broth- 
er. He  turned  to  leave  the  room,  saying  to  his 
mother,  "  I  shall  not  be  back  until  dinner." 

"  But  you  must  be  back  in  time  for  dinner — 
don't  forget  that,  Morton,"  she  said,  anxiously. 

"  I  shall  not  forget  it,"  he  answered. 

When  the  door  closed  on  him,  Mrs.  Annesley 
drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief,  and  looked  at  her 
daughter,  who  was  still  standing  by  the  window. 
Their  eyes  met,  and  Mrs.  French  laughed. 

"  Poor  Morton,  how  simple  he  is  1 "  she  said. 
"  I  wondered  you  had  patience  to  fence  with  him 
BO  long,  mamma.  Do  you  think  he  means  to 
spend  the  morning  at  Morton  House  ?  " 

Mrs.  Annesley  shook  her  head.  "I  wish  he 
did,"  she  answered.  "  He  means  to  spend  it  in 
Tallahoma. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Mrs.  French,  setting  her  teeth 
sharply,  "  I  would  make  an  end  of  that  business, 
If  I  were  yon." 

"  Suppose  you  could  not,  Adela  ?  " 

"  As  if  you  could  not  always  do  any  thing  you 
want  to." 


"  Morton  is  terribly  obstinate." 

"  Morton  is  like  wax  in  your  hands." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then,  Lot 
very  relevantly,  as  it  seemed,  Mrs.  Annesley  said, 
"  When  does  Irene  Vernon  leave  ?  " 

"  Not  before  New  Year.  You  know  she  is  en- 
gaged to  spend  Christmas  here." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

They  said  nothing  further — but,  after  another 
minute  or  two,  Mrs.  French  kissed  her  hand,  and 
gayly  waved  it  to  some  one  outside  the  window. 

"  It  is  only  Morton,"  she  said,  as  her  mothet 
came  forward  and  looked  over  her  shoulder.  "  I 
am  wishing  him  good  luck." 

They  both  watched  the  graceful  rider  out  of 
sight;  and  Mrs.  Annesley,  as  she  turned  away 
from  the  window,  said,  with  a  low  and  somewhat 
bitter  laugh,  "Let  him  go.  He  will  not  be  ad- 
mitted farther  than  the  door  of  Morton  House." 


CHAPTER  VIr. 

HOW   A   PALADIN   STORMED   A   CASTLE. 

IN  all  the  sweet  South  there  never  was  a  softer 
or  more  beautiful  morning — robed  in  gorgeous 
autumnal  dress,  and  glorying  in  a  lavish  affluence 
of  balmy  air,  and  golden  sunshine,  and  draping 
haze — than  that  on  which  the  young  owner  of 
Annesdale  rode  forth  to  try  his  fortune  at  Morton 
House. 

Shortly  after  leaving  his  own  gates,  he  over- 
took an  open  carriage  full  of  ladies,  who  were 
chattering  gayly,  and  who  burst  into  a  chorus  of 
welcome  when  Ilderim's  handsome  head  appeared 
beside  them. 

"  Mr.  Annesley !     What  a  surprise ! " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Annesley,  where  did  you  come 
from?" 

"  When  did  you  come  back,  and  how  are 
you?" 

Only  one  of  the  fair  bevy — the  fairest  among 
them — said  nothing;  but  she  smiled  and  held 
out  her  hand ;  and  neither  the  smile  nor  the 
action  left  any  thing  to  be  desired. 

Mr.  Annesley  answered  all  the  inquiries,  and 
exchanged  all  the  civilities  of  the  occasion;  and 
then  rode  along  by  the  side  of  the  carriage,  rest- 
ing one  hand  lightly  on  the  door,  while  with  the 
other  he  restrained  Ilderim's  eager  impatience ; 
and  the  stream  of  conversation  flowed  on  in  easy 
and  lively  current. 

"  You  have  been  to  Mobile,  Mr.  Annesley  ?  " 
isked  the  gay  young  chaperon  of  the  party — 


A   PALADIN  STORMED   A   CASTLE. 


31 


pretty  Mrs.  George  Raynor,  who  had  been  a  Miss 
Vernon  and  a  Mobile  belle  before  she  married, 
and  came  to  dazzle  Lagrange  with  her  beauty  and 
her  fashion.  "  Oh,  do  tell  us  something  about  it, 
for  we  are  almost  dying — Irene  and  I — for  news 
of  all  our  friends." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Morton,  smiling ; 
"  but  where  shall  I  begin  ?  I  was  only  in  Mobile 
for  a  few  days,  and  I  scarcely  saw  any  thing  of 
the  people  you  would  care  to  hear  about." 

"Ah,  I  care  to  hear  about  anybody,"  cried 
she,  with  fervor.  "  And,  if  you  did  not  see  any- 
body, just  tell  me  what  they  are  talking  about  in 
the  city.  I  wish  I  had  known  you  were  going, 
I  would  have  asked  you  to  take  a  package  to 
Aunt  Lucy — and,  perhaps — to  bring  me  a  bon- 
net back." 

"You  are  glad  she  did  not  know,  are  you 
not,  Mr.  Annesley  ?  "  said  Miss  Vernon,  laugh- 
ing. 

Morton  smiled  only,  in  reply  to  the  last  ques- 
tion, preferring,  it  seemed,  to  answer  Mrs.  Ray- 
nor's  remark.  "  If  I  had  not  left  home  so  hur- 
riedly, you  should  have  known,"  he  said.  "  But 
I  did  manage  to  see  your  aunt,  and  she  charged 
me  with  a  great  many  messages  to  yourself  and 
Miss  Vernon — the  chief  of  which,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  latter,  "  I  feel  tempted  not  to 
deliver." 

"  Is  it  so  very  disagreeable,  then  ?  "  asked 
she. 

"  It  will  not  be  at  all  disagreeable  to  you,  I 
am  afraid ;  but  she  urges  your  speedy  return  to 
Mobile,  and  that  will  be  very  disagreeable  to 
Lagrange." 

"  Lagrange  will  have  to  support  the  desola- 
tion as  best  it  can,  and  I  have  no  doubt  will  be 
able  to  endure  it,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  a  little 
coolly — thinking,  no  doubt,  that  the  compliment 
would  have  gained  point  and  strength  by  a  more 
personal  application. 

Then  a  cry  broke  from  the  other  two  young 
ladies,  who  were  both  Misses  Raynor,  plain  in 
looks,  plain  in  manners,  and  therefore  blindly 
admiring  the  Vernon  beauty,  and  emulous  of  the 
Vernon  style. 

"  Oh,  Irene,  you  surely  will  not  think  of  leav- 
ing us ! " 

"  Irene,  that  is  very  mean  of  your  aunt,  for 
she  knows  you  promised  to  stay  until  after 
Christmas." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Mrs.  Raynor.  "  Irene 
knows  she  is  not  going  until  I  am  ready  to  go 
with  her ;  and  only  George  can  say  when  that 
will  be — he  is  so  provoking!  Mr.  Annesley,  I 


do  hope  that  when  you  are  married,  you  will 
treat  your  wife  with  some  consideration." 

"  I  shall  endeavor  to  do  so,  Mrs.  Raynor," 
answered  Morton,  with  mock-gravity — for  all 
Lagrange  knew  that  George  Raynor  was  the 
most  thoroughly  hen-pecked  husband  in  the 
county — "  I  shall  come  to  you  for  instructions 
how  to  act.  But  you  have  not  told  me  what  has 
been  going  on  here  since  I  left." 

"  Nothing  has  been  going  on  in  any  way," 
said  Mrs.  Raynor. — "  Irene,  what  have  we  been 
doing  ? — any  thing  at  all  ?  " 

"Vegetating  and  yawning,  I  believe,"  an- 
swered Miss  Vernon.  "  But  these  principal 
occupations  have  been  varied  by  much  gossip, 
and  a  little  scandal,  lately." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  burst  in  Mrs.  Raynor,  with  the 
greatest  animation.  "  Lagrange  has  been  in  a 
perfect  ferment  of  gossip  for  the  last  three 
weeks,  Mr.  Annesley,  about  that  curious  Miss 
Morton,  or  Mrs.  Gordon,  or  whatever  her  name 
may  be,  who  has  come  back  like  a  ghost,  and 
set  everybody  talking  themselves  hoarse.  Of 
course  you  have  heard  of  her  ?  "  (She  did  not 
give  him  time  to  reply.)  "  For  my  part,  I  be- 
lieve that  she  murdered  both  her  husband  and 
her  brother,  and  that  she  has  come  here  to  bury 
her  remorse,  and  give  Lagrange  a  standing  topic 
of  conversation.  I  am  sure —  Good  gracious, 
Louisa,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Is  there  a  cater- 
pillar on  my  bonnet?  " 

The  inquiry  was  not  entirely  without  reason, 
for  the  elder  Miss  Raynor  had  been  making 
signals  of  silence  and  distress  for  the  last  five 
seconds,  without  being  able  to  attract  her  heed- 
less sister-in-Jaw's  attention. 

"  No,  indeed,  Flora,"  she  said,  blushing  with 
that  ever-ready  and  not  always  becoming  blush 
of  eighteen.  "  But  you  surely  forget — Mr.  An- 
nesley is  related  to — " 

"  To  my  murderess  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Raynor,  ex- 
tricating herself  from  the  difficulty  with  the  mer- 
riest laugh  in  the  world.  "  A  thousand  pardons, 
Mr.  Annesley !  But  you  know  how  heedless  I 
am !  I  am  sure  I  need  not  apologize  for  mere 
jesting." 

Mr.  Annesley's  face  had  taken  an  expression 
which  few  people  had  ever  seen  upon  it  before. 
A  stern  coldness  transformed  it  so  entirely  that 
the  ladies  exchanged  glances  of  surprise  and  dis- 
may. He  bowed  quite  haughtily,  as  he  said,  with 
gravity  : 

"  Personally,  I  could  not  of  course  be  of- 
fended by  what  was  not  meant  to  touch  my- 
self.  But  I  must  confess  that  my  ideas  of 


32 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


'jesting'  do  not  agree  with  those  of  Mrs.  Ray- 
nor." 

"  I  am  very,  very  sorry,"  cried  that  lady, 
eagerly,  coloring  a  little,  and  slightly  discon- 
certed by  his  manner  and  words.  "  You  must 
really  forgive  me,  Mr.  Annesley !  I  did  not  re- 
member at  the  moment  your  connection  with 
Mrs.  Gordon.  Indeed,  it  never  occurred  to  me 
that  you  would  care.  Adela  talks  just  as  every- 
body else  does." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Annesley, 
in  the  same  tone  as  before. 

"And,  really,"  continued  Mrs.  Raynor,  rally- 
ing from  her  momentary  embarrassment,  and  re- 
covering her  usual  nonchalant  gayety — "really, 
Mr.  Annesley,  you  are  very  unreasonable.  I 
only  repeated  what  everybody  is  saying.  Pray 
don't  hold  me  accountable  for  the  reports ! " 

Mr.  Annesley's  face  relaxed  into  a  smile — 
rather  grave,  it  is  true — as  he  answered  :  "  You 
are  right,  Mrs.  Raynor.  It  was  unreasonable, 
nay,  it  was  folly  in  me  to  resent  what  is  in  it- 
self so  trifling  a  matter  as  these  reports.  Gos- 
sips must  have  something  to  talk  about,  of  course. 
It  is  I  who  must  beg  your  pardon  for  having  for- 
gotten this." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Annesley,  I  don't  know  you !  " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Raynor,  astonished,  annoyed,  and 
amused,  all  at  once.  "  I  always  thought  you  a 
model  of  amiability  ;  bufyou  are  not  amiable  at 
present,  I  assure  you.  I  did  not  know  that  you 
had  laid  lance  in  rest,  in  Mrs.  Gordon's  defence, 
or  I  should  not  have  said  a  word.  And,  by-the- 
way,  don't  flatter  yourself  that  you  are  her  only 
champion.  Irene  has  been  doing  battle  in  her 
defence  from  the  first." 

"Have you?"  said  Morton,  turning  quickly 
to  Miss  Veraon.  "  I  hope  you  will  let  me  ad- 
mire and  thank  you  for  it." 

"  Pray  don't,"  answered  she.  "  I  only  heard 
a  woman  assailed,  and  felt  for  her — that  was 
•11." 

Before  the  gentleman  could  reply,  Mrs.  Ray- 
nor's  light  tones  broke  in  again : 

"  I  positively  victimized  myself  by  going  to 
church  last  Sunday  in  order  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  this  ghostly  lady ;  and  would  you  believe  it, 
Mr.  Annesley,  she  did  not  come !  I  wonder  if 
she  never  means  to  come  ?  But  somebody  said 
that  a  splendid-looking  child,  who  sat  in  a  pew 
next  the  pulpit,  was  here." 

"Oh,  yes,"  chorussed  the  Misses  Raynor, 
"  and  such  a  woman  with  him !  If  you  could 
have  seen  her  bonnet !  And,  what  do  you  think, 
Mr  Annesley  • — she  actually  sat  up  and  s&id  her 


beads  all  the  time  Mr.  Norwood  was  preaching— 
and  that  under  his  very  eyes !  " 

"  She  is  evidently  a  Frenchwoman,"  said  Miss 
Vernon,  *and  of  course  a  Catholic.  No  doubt 
she  took  that  means  to  avoid  joining  in  what  she 
considered  heretical  worship. — Are  you  going, 
Mr.  Annesley  ?  " 

"  I  am  reluctantly  compelled  to  do  so,"  said 
Mr.  Annesley,  who  had  drawn  Ilderim  from  the 
carriage-door,  and  himself  from  that  soft  contact 
of  silk  and  lace ;  that  near  neighborhood  of  a 
slender,  well-gloved  hand  ;  that  faint,  dainty  fra- 
grance of  fresh  millinery ;  that  capricious  parasol 
fringe  which  was  never  still,  and  which  would 
persist  in  sweeping  his  face,  and  that  subtile,  in- 
tangible charm  which,  like  an  aroma,  seems  con- 
stantly exhaling  from  a  lovely  and  well-dressed 
woman — "  I  am  compelled  to  do  so — for  here  is 
Morton  House,  and  to  it  I  am  bound.  You  dine 
at  Annesdale  to-day  ?  Then  you  may  expect  a 
full  account  of  the  wonders  and  mysteries  within 
these  gates.  Good-morning." 

He  lifted  his  hat — the  ladies  bent  their  heads 
with  a  general  flutter  of  plumes  and  ribbons — 
the  carriage  swept  on  in  a  yellow  cloud  of  dust, 
and  the  young  man  found  himself  alone  before 
the  gates  of  Morton  House. 

Like  his  mother,  he  too  felt,  when  those  gates 
closed  behind  him,  as  if  he  had  entered  an  en- 
chanted domain — a  domain  over  the  neglected 
beauty  of  which  there  rested  a  mournful  still- 
ness, deeper  and  more  pathetic  than  mere  soli- 
tude; where  brooded  a  solemn  air  of  repose, 
and  a  subtile  power  of  awaking  thought  and  as- 
sociation which  we  have  most  of  us  observed  in 
those  places  where  life  once  ran  riot,  and  from 
which  it  has  long  since  departed  forever. 

The  young  man  involuntarily  bared  his  head 
as  he  rode  slowly  along  beneath  the  drooping 
trees ;  and  patches  of  golden  sunshine,  flicker- 
ing softly  down,  fell  on  the  rich  black  curls  and 
the  face  that  was  subdued  almost  to  mournful- 
ness.  There  was  to  him  an  indescribable  pathos 
in  the  stately  quiet  around  him.  He  thought  of 
the  by-gone  voices  that  had  once  sounded  along 
this  avenue,  of  the  gay  hearts  that  had  gone 
their  way  brimful  of  life  and  joy,  and  the  sad 
hearts  that  had  found  even  the  beauty  of  Nature 
a  weariness  and  a  mockery — well,  they  were  all 
equally  at  rest  <iow.  He  thought  of  the  bright 
children  who  had  played  beneath  those  trees ; 
and  of  the  fair  ladies  who  had  dreamed  sweet 
fancies  under  their  shade,  or — who  knows  ?— 
dropped  bitter  tears  upon  their  mossy  roots. 
The  sod  lay  heavily  enough  over  those  lovely 


HOW  A  PALADIN   STORMED   A   CASTLE. 


33 


faces  now ;  and  it  mattered  little  whether  they 
had  known  most  of  the  smiles  or  of  the  tears. 
Then  he  thought  how  often  his  father  had  passed 
here,  with  all  manhood's  brightest  hopes  stirring 
at  his  heart,  and  all  manhood's  proudest  resolve 
in  his  breast — yet  how  little  either  the  hope  or 
the  resolve  had  availed  to  change  his  fate.  Mor- 
ton felt  a  bitter  pang  at  the  recollection  of  that 
father  who  had  gone  so  early  out  of  his  life,  but 
whose  memory  had  ever  remained  with  him  as  a 
vision  of  all  that  was  most  noble  in  simple  chiv- 
alry— a  lesson  which  had  done  more  to  mould  the 
boy's  character  than  all  the  precepts  of  living 
teachers.  And  he  was  going  now  to  see  the 
woman  whose  fatal  beauty  had  wrecked  the  hap- 
piness of  that,  father's  life !  He  knew — every- 
body knew — that  Edgar  Annesley  had  poured 
out  his  love  like  water  at  Pauline  Morton's  feet, 
and  that  she  had  scorned  him  as  she  scorned  all 
others  in  that  proud  heyday  of  her  youth  and 
power.  And  now  there  seemed  a  retribution  in 
the  fact  that  Edgar  Annesley's  son  came  forward 
as  her  sole  defender  against  the  fickle  world  that 
had  once  fawned  at  her  feet.  "  It  is  the  only 
revenge  he  would  have  wished,"  thought  the  son, 
placing,  as  he  always  did,  the  father  in  his  posi- 
tion. "  But  he  would  never,  for  one  moment, 
have  considered  it  revenge.  He  would  have  re- 
garded it  as  a  duty,  and  thought  himself  happy 
in  performing  it.  Ah,  I  shall  never  master  the 
whole  essence  of  his  knightly  creed  and  practice 
— he  who  was  a  very  Bayard,  and  yet  thought 
that  he  only  fulfilled  the  common  duties  of  a 
gentleman."  And  here,  after  all,  had  been  the 
great  secret  of  that  resolution  which  so  much 
surprised  Mrs.  Annesley.  The  young  man  had 
set  out  in  life  feeling  himself  his  father's  repre- 
sentative, and  he  had  never  felt  this  more  than 
when  slander  set  its  mark  on  the  woman  his 
father  had  loved.  He  had  spoken  to  his  mother 
as  a  Morton ;  but  his  warmest  interest  in  Mrs. 
Gordon's  cause  rose  from  the  fact  that  he  was 
an  Annesley.  There,  indeed,  rose  his  true  ani- 
mating impulse ;  and  there  was  an  anchor  to  hold 
him  steadfast  through  any  opposition. 

Suddenly,  when  he  was  about  half-way  to  the 
house,  a  sound  broke  on  the  stillness — a  shrill, 
childish  voice  that  caused  Ilderim  to  start  and 
prick  up  his  satin  ears  with  ominous  haste. 
When  he  had  been  brought  to  order,  Annesley 
was  able  to  comprehend  that  words  of  alternate 
entreaty  and  command  were  apparently  being 
addressed  to  himself  by  some  unseen  person. 

"  Hola !  Monsieur  1  monsieur,  come  here  !  " 
cried  the  voice,  in  a  strange  mixture  of  French 


and  English.  "  Pardonnez-moi,  but  that  nastf 
Babette— " 

The  rest  was  lost  in  consequence  of  a  sudden 
movement  on  Ilderim's  part,  which  demanded  all 
his  rider's  attention.  When  this  exigence  was 
passed,  Morton  stared  about  him  in  utter  bewil- 
derment, for  "  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the 
stillness  gave  no  token  "  of  any  human  presence 
beside  his  own. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  he  demanded  at  last — 
sending  his  own  voice  in  the  direction  from 
which  the  other  had  proceeded.  "  Holloa  ! — 
who  is  there  ?  " 

Then  the  same  childish  tones  replied,  impa- 
tiently : 

"  It  is  me — Felix  Gordon.  I  wish  you  would 
make  haste,  monsieur,  for  my  arm  is  very  tired." 

Guided  by  the  voice,  Annesley  now  saw  in 
the  grove  on  his  right  a  small  figure  clinging 
half  to  the  trunk  and  half  to  the  lower  limb  of  a 
large  tree,  and  thus  suspended  fully  fifteen  feet 
above  the  ground. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  he  cried.  Then,  spring- 
ing from  his  horse,  one  or  two  quick  bounds  car- 
ried him  at  once  to  the  foot  of  the  tree,  where 
he  perceived  the  peril  of  the  child's  position 
more  clearly.  The  limb  had  evidently  broken 
under  him,  and  left  him  clinging  with  one  hand 
to  a  fragment  of  it  while  he  braced  his  feet 
against  a  gnarled  knot  of  the  tree,  and  thus  par- 
tially relieved  himself  of  his  own  weight.  But  it 
was  only  partially ;  and  relief  from  the  preca- 
rious position  was  impossible  without  the  aid 
which  had  so  opportunely  and  so  accidentally 
arrived. 

Morton  did  not  waste  any  time  in  words.  He 
saw  that  the  face  which  looked  down  upon  him 
was  very  self-possessed  ;  but  he  also  saw  that  it 
was  very  pale,  and  marked  the  painful  rigidity 
of  the  attitude.  He  threw  his  gloves  near  a 
small  velvet  cap  that  lay  on  the  grass,  and  the 
next  moment  was  climbing  the  tree  with  the  agil- 
ity of  a  school-boy. 

But  when  he  began  to  approach  the  child, 
he  saw  that  caution  was  necessary,  or  he  would 
dislodge  the  boy's  foot  and  send  him  crashing  to 
the  ground,  for  he  could  do  little  more  than  steady 
himself  by  his  hand.  Therefore,  the  rescuer  crept 
carefully  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  trunk,  hardly 
allowing  himself  more  than  the  merest  clasp  of 
it,  and,  when  he  was  once  safe  among  the  boughs, 
ascended  to  a  considerable  height  before  he 
paused.  Then,  with  extreme  care,  he  descended 
from  limb  to  limb  until  he  reached  the  one  im- 
mediately above  the  boy.  There  he  seated  him- 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


•elf,  and  finding  it  secure  spoke  for  the  first 
time. 

"  Now  I  am  going  to  draw  you  up  to  me. 
When  I  take  hold  of  your  collar,  you  must  let 
go  the  clasp  both  of  your  feet  and  your  hand. 
Don't  be  afraid ;  for  I  shall  not  let  you  fall." 

"  Ma  foi !  I  am  not  likely  to  be  afraid,"  said 
the  boy,  half-scornfully.  "  But,  if  you  are  going 
to  do  it,  you  had  better  make  haste." 

Bending  over,  Annesley  took  a  firm  grasp  of 
the  clothing  that  encircled  the  soft  young  neck, 
and  with  one  vigorous  lift  placed  the  child  be- 
fore him. 

His  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  was  white  to 
the  lips,  so  that  at  first  Annesley  thought  he 
bad  fainted.  But  the  next  instant  the  fringed 
lids  lifted,  and  a  smile  of  triumph  came  over  the 
pale  face. 

"  Babette  said  I  could  not  do  it ;  but  I  have 
done  it,"  he  cried.  "  It  was  not  my  fault  that 
the  limb  broke." 

"  It  was  not  your  fault,"  said  Morton,  kindly ; 
"  but  it  was  an  accident  which  is  likely  to  happen 
at  any  time,  and  you  must  not  risk  your  neck  in 
this  way  again.  I  may  not  be  within  call  next 
time." 

"  No,"  said  the  boy.  He  glanced  rapidly  and 
louiewhat  wonderingly  over  the  face  and  form  of 
his  deliverer.  "  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you, 
monsieur,"  he  added,  with  the  grand  manner  which 
had  impressed  even  Mrs.  Annesley.  "  But,  je  ne 
vous  connais  pas — that  is,  I  do  not  know  you." 

41 1  am  your  cousin,"  answered  Morton,  smil- 
ing ;  "  and  my  name  is  Annesley." 

*'  Ah ! "  said  the  boy ;  and  as  he  strove  to 
steady  himself  by  altering  his  position,  he  gave  a 
faint  cry  of  pain.  "  It  is  nothing,"  he  said,  quick- 
ly, in  answer  to  his  companion's  look  of  inquiry, 
"  only  my  arm — I  hurt  it." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  When  the  limb  broke.  Ah,  I  should  have 
got  down  if  I  could  have  used  it — but  I  couldn't, 
you  know." 

"  Let  me  see  if  it  is  much  hurt,"  said  Annes- 
ley ;  and,  after  the  child  had  unflinchingly  borne 
an  examination,  he  pronounced  it  only  sprained. 
"  The  bone  is  all  right,"  he  said ;  "  but  you  were 
a  brave  fellow  to  hold  on  with  one  arm  when  the 
other  was  in  this  condition." 

"  I'd  have  hurt  both,  if  I  had  fallen,"  said  his 
new  acquaintance,  with  a  half-comic  grimace — 
adding  quickly,  "but,  monsieur,  let  us  go 
down." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  how  we  shall  manage 
that,  and  I  don't  see  very  clearly  yet.  This  is 


the  first  thing  to  be  done."  He  drew  a  small 
flask  from  his  pocket,  and  held  it  to  his  com- 
panion's lips.  "  Drink,  my  boy — it  will  burn 
your  throat,  but  never  mind  that — you  need 
it." 

The  boy  drank  eagerly — far  too  eagerly,  An- 
nesley thought ;  for  he  soon  drew  the  flask 
away. 

"  That  is  enough — I  don't  want  to  unsteady 
your  head  for  the  descent." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  the  child,  in  the  scornful  tone 
which  came  so  strangely  from  his  childish  lips. 
"  Bah,  monsieur !  Do  you  think  I  could  not 
drink  twice  that  much,  and  be  steady  yet  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  sorry  if  you  could,"  said  An- 
nesley, gravely. 

The  dark  eyes  flashed  upon  him  suddenly 
"  Pourquoi,  monsieur  ?  " 

"Because  it  would  show  that  you  must  have 
had  very  bad  training,"  said  Morton,  quietly. 
"  No  child  of  your  age  ought  to  know  the  taste 
of  brandy — much  less,  drink  it  as  you  did  just 
now.  Who  gives  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  Alas !  no  one  now,"  answered  the  boy,  with 
candid  regret.  "  Papa  gave  it  to  me  sometimes 
— but  that  was  only  to  worry  mamma^and  St. 
John  gave  it  to  me  very  often." 

"  But  surely  your  mother  does  not  like  it  to 
be  given  to  you  ?  " 

The  small  shoulders  achieved  a  Gallic  shrug 
which  was  simply  perfect.  "  I  should  t'aink  not, 
indeed,  monsieur !  Mamma  will  not  ev«  n  let  me 
drink  a  glass  of  wine — and  Babette,  nas  y  thing ! 
always  tells  her  if  I  do." 

"  Then,  if  I  had  been  in  your  place,"  laid  Mor- 
ton, impressively,  "I  would  not  have  ta  -en  that 
brandy,  unless  your  mother  had  given  i  to  you 
herself." 

The  boy  gazed  at  him  wcnderingly  "  Mon- 
sieur, why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  I  should  have  felt  b(  und  by  her 
wishes,  especially  as  she  was  absent,"  said  Mor- 
ton, as  gravely  as  befitted  the  character  of  Men- 
tor, with  which  the  occasion  had  invested  him. 
"  A  trust,  my  boy,  is  a  thing  which  cannot  be 
held  too  sacred.  Come,  I  see  you  are  very  sen- 
sible, and  I  need  not  talk  to  you  as  I  would  to 
most  children — I  can  speak  to  you  almost  as  if 
you  were  a  man.  You  mean  to  be  a  gentleman, 
do  you  not  ?  "  » 

"  I  am  a  gentleman,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  But  dc 
you  know  what  is  the  chief  thing  that  makes  a 
gentleman  ?  Not  blood,  not  birth — they  are  good 
in  their  way,  but  they  won't  do  by  themselves— 


HOW   A  PALADIN   STORMED   A   CASTLE. 


35 


not  any  one  thing  so  much  as  the  capability  of 
being  trusted." 

"  Mamma  says  so — but  she  is  a  woman." 

"  Well,  I  am  a  man,  and  I  tell  you  the  same 
thing.  What  is  more,  I  tell  you  that  nobody  who 
bore  the  Morton  name  was  ever  lacking  in  this 
capability.  Look  round !  do  you  see  all  this, 
which  will  be  yours  some  day — these  noble  trees, 
and  those  broad  fields  yonder  ?  Well,  the  men 
who  owned  all  this  before  you  were  men  who,  if 
a  trust  had  been  given  them,  would  have  held  it 
till  they  died — held  it  as  you  held  that  limb  a 
little  while  ago.  You  are  a  Morton  in  courage, 
why  not  be  a  Morton  in  honor  as  well  ?  " 

The  sudden  question  took  his  listener  en- 
tirely by  surprise.  He  looked  up— still  with 
wonder — into  the  earnest  face  which  bent  over 
him,  as  he  said,  slowly,  "  I  am  a  Gordon,  mon- 
sieur." 

"  I  know.  But  you  are  a  Morton  also ;  and, 
whatever  the  Gordons  were,  the  Mortons,  at 
least,  have  always  been  brave  and  loyal  gentle- 
men. I  could  tell  you  many  a  story  about  the 
men  of  your  name — and  then,  perhaps,  you  would 
think  that  such  a  name  was  worth  bearing." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  the  boy,  eagerly.  "  St.  John 
used  to  tell  me  about  the  Gordons ;  and  I  liked 
to  he;ir  how  they  killed  men  and  ran  away  with 
women,  and  drank  wine  and  brandy." 

"  Then  I  am  afraid  you  would  not  like  my 
stori(p,"  said  Morton,  "  for  I  have  nothing  of  the 
sort  to  tell  you.  The  men  of  whom  I  speak  never 
did  any  of  those  things.  They  were  simple,  hon- 
orable gentlemen,  who  lived  quiet  lives,  but  who 
knew  how  to  be  true  to  their  friends,  to  honor 
their  God,  and  to  serve  their  country ;  but  not 
one  of  them  would  have  put  that  flask  of  brandy 
to  his  lips  ! " 

Felix's  large  eyes  opened  widely.  "  Mon- 
sieur !  Did  none  of  them  drink  brandy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Morton,  "  I  suppose  all  of 
taem  drank  brandy,  and  sometimes  more  than 
was  good  for  them.  But  none  of  them  would 
have  done  so  if  they  had  been  put  on  their  honor 
not  to  do  it  by  somebody  who  had  a  right  to 
exact  such  a  promise." 

Felix  looked  thoughtful.  It  was  evident  that 
a  new  light  had  dawned  on  his  mind — a  light 
?ery  different,  when  presented  by  this  handsome 
young  cavalier,  to  that  which  had  been  urged  by 
his  mother.  At  last,  as  he  did  not  speak,  Annes- 
ley  broke  the  silence. 

<;  Now,  we  must  get  down,  or  your  mother  will 
be  uneasy  about  you.  Were  you  alone  when  you 
climbed  up  here?" 


"  No ;  Babette  was  with  me.  She  said  I 
should  not  do  it,  and  I  said  I  would — and  I  did  I 
She  tried  to  hold  me;  but  she  isn't  strong, 
though  her  arms  are  so  big ;  and,  when  I  kicked 
her,  she  had  to  let  me  go." 

"  Who  is  Babette  ?  " 

"  My  bonne,"  answered  the  boy,  with  a  gri- 
mace. "  St.  John  says  I  am  too  old — I  shouldn't 
have  a  bonne." 

"  But,  as  you  have  got  one,  you  ought  to  treat 
her  properly.  I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  your  having 
acted  as  you  did.  Horses  kick — not  gentlemen." 

"  St.  John  says  I  ought  to  torment  the  life  out 
of  her,  and  then  she  will  go  away." 

"  And  then  your  mother  would  get  another, 
perhaps  a  worse  one.  Who  is  this  St.  John? 
He  seems  to  have  given  you  very  bad  advice." 

"  He  was  papa's  secretary,  and  I  liked  him  ; 
but  mamma  hated  him." 

"  Then  you  certainly  ought  not  to  obey  him 
so  well.  Now  let  us  move  forward.  How  does 
your  arm  feel  ? — well  enough  to  bear  a  weight  ?  " 

"  N— o,"  said  Felix,  regretfully.  "  What  do 
you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  you  to  clasp  your  arms  round  my 
neck,  while  I  go  down  the  tree.  But  we  must 
compromise  with  your  feet.  Do  you  think  you 
can  hold  on  with  them  ?  " 

The  boy  laughed.  "  It  will  be  funny,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  think  I  can." 

"  This  way — let  me  lift  you  to  my  shoulder. 
Are  you  firmly  seated  ?  Now,  hold  tight — take  a 
grasp  of  my  collar." 

"  I'll  do  it." 

And  he  did  do  it,  with  a  vigor  which  threat- 
ened strangulation  unless  their  descent  was  very 
speedy. 

"  Here  we  go ! "  said  Morton,  gayly.  "  Pity 
we  haven't  got  an  audience  for  this  feat  in  gym- 
nastics." And,  lightly  swinging  loose  from  the 
bough  on  which  they  had  been  perched,  he  clam- 
bered down  the  trunk,  without  in  the  least  seem- 
ing to  feel  his  burdened  condition. 

In  less  than  a  minute  they  were  standing  on 
the  ground  laughing  together  in  friendly  good- 
fellowship.  Ilderim  had  taken  his  departure 
some  time  before,  so  the  sylvan  solitude  was  all 
their  own. 

"  Now  for  this  arm  of  yours,"  said  Morton. 
"  It  must  be  attended  to  at  once ;  and  your 
clothes  are  considerably  the  worse  for  your  mis- 
hap. What  will  your  mother  say  ?  " 

The  boy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  She  will 
think  of  this,"  he  said,  touching  his  arm.  "  Ba- 
bette will  scold  about  the  clothes." 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"  Oh,  I  dare  say  you  can  hold  your  own 
against  Babette.  Is  the  avenue  the  shortest 
way  to  the  house  ?  " 

"  No ;  I'll  take  you  a  shorter  one." 

They  set  forward  amicably,  talking  as  they 
went  And,  as  they  talked,  it  would  be  hard  to 
say  which  of  them  conceived  the  most  cordial 
liking  for  the  other.  On  Morton's  side  it  was 
more  than  half  pity,  for  he  perceived  the  moral 
perversion  of  the  child's  nature,  and  read  plainly 
his  reckless  rebellion  against  the  curb  held  over 
him  by  feminine  hands.  But  he  saw  the  elements 
of  much  nobility,  together  with  the  proofs  of  much 
bravery,  and  the  latter  in  itself  delighted  him. 
The  boy's  face  kindled  when  he  spoke  of  heroism, 
and,  if  it  did  not  kindle  when  he  spoke  of  chiv- 
alry, it  was  because  the  principles  of  chivalry 
were  foreign  teachings  to  his  mind  —  not  be- 
cause the  nature  was  incapable  of  holding  them. 
Some  sinister  influence  had  plainly  been  at  work 
with  him — some  influence  like  that  which  has 
marred  many  another  gallant  nature — and  had 
indissolubly  associated  valor  with  evil,  and  weak- 
ness with  good,  in  the  boy's  apprehension.  Pride 
of  a  certain  sort  had  been  duly  instilled,  but  it 
was  very  far  from  being  pride  of  a  right  sort — if, 
indeed,  there  be  a  right  sort.  Annesley  was 
puzzled  by  the  strange  contradictions  that  un- 
folded themselves  before  him.  But  he  was  more 
interested  than  repelled,  and  he  could  not  help 
thinking  how  pleasant  it  would  be  to  draw  these 
warped  conceptions  straight.  Perhaps  he  was 
something  of  a  Quixote  in  those  early  days — too 
prone  to  amateur  philanthropy.  But  there  was 
that  about  him  which  caused  most  people  to  for- 
give the  failing ;  and,  considering  how  soon  such 
impulsive  generosity  is  cooled  and  cured  by  later 
years,  they  could  well  afford  to  do  so.  His  heart 
yearned  now  over  this  fatherless  boy — this  boy 
who  was  his  own  kinsman — and  even  while  he 
talked  to  him  of  sports,  and  dogs,  and  horses, 
and  on  all  the  topics  most  dear  to  a  boy's  fancy, 
he  was  mentally  considering  how  he  could  gain  a 
sort  of  right  of  tutelage  over  him.  It  all  depended 
on  that  unknown  woman  whom  he  was  going  to 
ect — that  woman  whose  sworn  defender  he  had 
already  constituted  himself;  and  he  began  to 
feel  more  anxiety  about  her  reception  of  him, 
than  he  had  suffered  himself  to  entertain  before. 

This  anxiety  was  soon  set  at  rest ;  for,  as  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  house,  Felix  uttered  an  excla- 
mation. 

"  There  is  mamma  now,  and  Babette,  too — the 
horrid  thing !  They  are  coming  after  me." 

"  Go  and  speak  to  them,  then,"  said  Morton, 


quickly.  "  They  do  not  see  you  yet.  Go  at 
once." 

The  boy  hesitated  a  minute ;  but,  at  the  sec- 
ond bidding,  he  went — speeding  like  an  arrow 
straight  to  the  terrace-steps,  which  his  mother 
was  hastily  descending,  accompanied  by  Babette 
— the  latter  talking  eagerly,  with  many  gesticu- 
lations— while  a  group  of  servants  followed  be- 
hind. 

Annesley  advanced  deliberately,  an  amused 
spectator  of  the  scene  which  ensued  of  Babette's 
stormy  outcries  and  reproaches,  of  the  mother's 
passionate  caresses,  of  the  half-defiant,  half- 
triumphant  story  of  Felix,  of  the  interested  ser- 
vants who  brought  their  dusky  faces  near  and 
nearer — and  of  the  final  moment  when  all  eyes 
turned  toward  himself. 

Then  he  came  forward  more  quickly,  very 
gallant  and  handsome  in  presence,  very  easy  and 
graceful  in  bearing,  yet  with  a  slight  tincture  of 
embarrassment  at  the  semi-heroism  of  his  posi- 
tion. 

Mrs.  Gordon  met  him  with  outstretched  hand, 
and  so  warm  a  light  in  her  eyes  that  he  marked 
none  of  the  ravages  of  time,  but  only  saw  that 
they  had  spoken  truly  who  called  Pauline  Mor- 
ton's beauty  without  peer.  "  Oh,  thank  you, 
thank  you ! "  she  cried  in  that  soft  and  melo- 
dious voice  which  had  never  yet  failed  to  fasci- 
nate any  one  who  listened  to  it.  "  I  owe  my  dar- 
ling's safety  to  you!  How  can  I  than^you 
enough !  " 

"  You  must  not  thank  me  at  all,"  said  An- 
nesley, bending  to  kiss  the  fragile-looking  hands 
that  had  grasped  his  own — and  there  was  some- 
thing very  courtly  in  tlie  action,  though  it  was 
one  of  unstudied  impulse — "or  you  will  make 
me  fear  that  you  forget  I  have  a  kinsman's  right 
to  serve  you  and  yours." 

She  read  his  face  all  over  with  one  glance  of 
her  eyes,  then  spoke  impulsively :  "  Ah,  my  kins- 
man, indeed — for  I  see  you  are  Edgar  Annes- 
ley's  son." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  which  pro- 
nounced his  father's  name  that  touched  Morton's 
heart  to  the  quick  —  won  it,  indeed,  for  thia 
woman  who  had  wrecked  that  father's  happi- 
ness. It  seemed  to  him  that  in  her  voice  there 
was  an  echo  of  the  admiring  reverence,  the  re- 
gretful tenderness,  which  always  thrilled  his  own 
soul  when  he  thought  of  that  brief  life  and  pre- 
mature death — an  echo  he  had  never  before  heard 
on  any  lip — not  even  his  mother's.  He  felt  that 
one  other  beside  himself  appreciated  the  spirit 
which  had  passed  from  earth  without  its  due 


THE   ADELAIDE. 


37 


meed  of  lasting  honor ;  and  an  emotion  of  almost 
passionate  gratitude  sprung  up  within  him.  Per- 
haps Mrs.  Gordon  read  the  meaning  of  the  swift 
change  that  came  over  the  frank  young  face ;  for 
she  smiled  kindly,  and,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  said 

"  Come.  Let  me  welcome  my  kinsman  to 
Morton  House." 

And  then  Annesley  found  himself  led  forward 
into  the  castle  which  had  been  declared  impregna- 
ble— a  paladin,  invested  for  the  time  being  with  a 
sort  of  chivalric  triumph,  and  quite  the  master 
of  the  situation. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE    ADELAIDE. 

"  Now,  Katy,"  said  Miss  Tresham,  in  a  tone 
of  authority,  "  you  must  say  this  lesson,  my  dear 
— and  you  must  not  mumble  the  words  so  that 
I  cannot  hear  them,  either.  Take  your  finger 
out  of  your  mouth,  and  hold  up  your  head.  Now 
begin — '  A  verb ' — " 

"'A  verb,'"  drawled  Katy,  '"is  a  word 
which  signifies  to  be,  to  do,  or' — to  do — or — or 
—is  that  all  a  verb  signifies,  Miss  Tresham  ?  " 

" '  To  suffer,' "  prompted  Jack,  in  a  loud 
whisper,  with  his  eyes  fastened  on  the  pages  of 
his  arithmetic. 

"  Jack,"  said  the  governess,  severely,  "  take 
your  book  and  go  and  stand  up  in  the  corner,  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room.  In  a  few  minutes  I 
shall  see  if  you  know  your  own  lesson  well 
enough  to  be  prompting  Katy  with  hers.  You 
will  have  to  learn  a  French  verb  after  school, 
for  breaking  rules. — Now,  Katy,  I  will  give  you 
one  more  trial.  '  A  verb  is  a  word  which  signi- 
fies to  be,  to  do,  or  to  suffer.'  What  next  ?  " 

"  'As,  lam,  lie  runs,  she  loves.''  " 

"  Very  well.  Go  on."  For  Katy,  having  de- 
livered this  much  in  a  very  loud  voice,  came  to 
a  sudden,  dead  stop. 

"  '  Verbs  are — are  of  two  kinds  ' — ain't  they 
of  two  kinds,  Miss  Tresham  ?  " 

"  Go  on,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Tresham,  with 
severe  patience. 

"  '  Verbs  are  of  two  kinds,'  "  repeated  Katy, 
dubiously,  as  if  the  statement  was,  in  her  own 
opinion,  a  very  doubtful  one ;  and  there  she 
paused,  and  fell  to  twisting  the  corner  of  her 
apron. 

"  Hold  your  hands  still,  and  go  on,  Katy," 
said  the  much-tried  governess. 


" '  Verbs  are  of  two  kinds,'  "  repeated  Katy, 
once  more,  and  apparently  in  a  state  of  despair. 
"  '  Verbs  are  of  two  kinds — positive,  compara- 
tive, and  super — '  " 

Here  an  audible  titter  from  the  other  scholars 
was  silenced  by  a  look  from  the  teacher,  and  a 
well-thumbed  grammar  was  held  out  to  its  owner. 
"  Take  your  book,  my  dear,  and  put  it  aside. 
After  school,  you  will  have  to  learn  this  lesson. 
Now,  children,  get  your  slates  and  let  me  see 
your  sums." 

A  slamming  of  desks  and  shuffling  of  books 
ensued,  followed  by  the  appearance  of  various 
slates,  more  or  less  covered  with  cipherings,  all 
of  which  were  submitted  to  Miss  Tresham.  She 
took  the  one  nearest  her,  and  began  casting  up 
the  column  of  figures. 

There  was  a  temporary  silence  in  the  school- 
room, for  all  eyes  were  anxiously  following  the 
movements  of  the  governess's  pencil,  and  the 
only  sounds  were  her  strokes  on  the  slate,  as 
she  made  her  firm,  round  numerals,  and  the 
swaying  to  and  fro  of  some  boughs  before  the 
open  window — boughs  that  were  faintly  stirred 
by  a  soft,  southern  breeze,  and  between  which 
the  golden  sunshine  streamed  across  the  school- 
room floor,  across  Katharine's  dark-blue  dress 
and  bright  brown  head,  across  Jack's  darned 
jacket,  and  Sara's  neat  check  apron,  and  smooth 
little  tails  of  plaited  hair.  Unfortunately,  how- 
ever, this  window  was  directly  over  the  front- 
door ;  and  when  a  quick  tread  was  heard  advan- 
cing up  the  walk,  and  into  the  piazza,  followed  by 
a  knock  which  echoed  through  the  house,  there 
was  an  instantaneous  end  both  of  silence  and  at- 
tention. 

"  Hallo !  who  can  that  be  ?  "  cried  Jack.  "  I 
bet  it's  Tom  Ford,  come  after  his  gun,  Dick !  I 
told  you  you'd  no  business — " 

"Hush,  Jack!"  said  Miss  Tresham. — "Here, 
Sara — here  is  the  mistake  in  your  sum.  When 
you  added  up  this  line  of  figures,  you  forgot  to 
carry  there — " 

"  Miss  Tresham,  if  it's  Tom,  mayn't  I  go  and 
give  him  his  gun  ?  "  asked  Dick,  anxiously.  He 
had  been  listening  with  all  his  ears  to  the  muffled 
sounds  below,  but  had  failed  to  distinguish  any 
thing  to  set  his  mind  at  rest. 

"  I'll  go  and  look  over  the  banisters,  and  see 
who  it  is,"  said  Jack,  briskly,  and  he  made  a 
dart  toward  the  door,  but  was  promptly  arrested 
by  the  governess. 

"  Come  back  this  instant  to  your  seat,  Jack  1 
It  docs  not  concern  you  to  know  who  is  down- 
stairs.— Dick,  if  it  is  Tom  Ford,  your  mother  car 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


have  the  gun  given  to  him.  Now,  be  quiet  and 
attend  to  me.  Five  into  thirty-eight  goes  how 
often  ?  I  am  asking  you,  Dick." 

"  Five  into  thirty-eight,"  repeated  Dick,  re- 
moving his  eyes  hastily  from  the  door,  upon 
which  they  were  fixed.  "Five  into  thirty-eight 
goes — " 

"  It's  Mr.  Annesley,"  announced  Katy,  in  a 
loud  voice. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  demanded  Jack,  ea- 
gerly. 

"  I  heard  him,"  she  answered  joyfully ;  and 
she  jumped  down  from  her  seat,  and  ran  to  the 
window.  "  Yes,  it's  Mr.  Annesley — I  see  his 
horse ! — Oh,  Miss  Tresham,  please  let  me  go 
down ! " 

"  Take  your  seat,"  said  Miss  Tresham,  briefly, 
"  and  don't  let  me  hear  another  word." 

"But  he  will  go!"  cried  the  child,  turning 
first  red  and  then  pale,  "and  I  won't  get  to  see 
him  at  all.  Miss  Tresham,  please  let  me—" 

"  Katy,  did  you  hear  me  tell  you  to  take  your 
seat?" 

"  But  he  will  go ! "  repeated  she,  half-pas- 
sionately,  half-entreatingly. 

"  Ba — a  !  Now,  cry  like  a  baby  about  it," 
Baid  Jack. 

"  I'll  cry  if  I  want  to ! "  was  the  angry  re- 
tort. 

"  I  don't  think  you  will,"  said  Miss  Tresham, 
quietly.  "  If  you  don't  come  this  instant  to  your 
seat,  I  will  lock  you  up  in  the  closet." 

Katy  gave  a  great  gulp ;  but  she  knew  the 
battle  was  an  unequal  one.  She  remembered 
how  often  she  had  got  the  worst  of  similar  en- 
counters, and  she  moved  slowly  and  sullenly  tow- 
ard her  chair.  When  she  was  fairly  seated,  Miss 
Tresham  turned  again  to  the  arithmetic. 

"  Dick,  you  have  not  yet  told  me  how  often 
fire  goes  into  thirty-eight." 

"  Seven  times,  and  three  over,"  responded 
Dick,  who  had,  meanwhile,  been  ascertaining  the 
fact  by  the  aid  of  his  fingers. 

"  And  how  often  does — " 

"Tap,  tap,  tap,"  at  the  door — which  was 
promptly  thrown  open  by  Jack,  before  Miss 
Tresham  could  utter  a  word.  A  servant  stood 
outside.  "  Mr.  Annesley's  down-stairs,  ma'am," 
he  said,  addressing  Katharine. 

She  looked  up  and  frowned  a  little. 

"Whom  did  he  ask  for ?" 

"  For  you  and  mistis  both,  ma'am." 

"  Tell  him  he  must  excuse  me.  I  never  see 
»ny  one  in  the  morning.  You  know  this,  Tom. 
Why  didn't  you  tell  him  so  at  once  ?  " 


"  I  did  'm.  But  mistis  come  out,  and  asked 
him  to  walk  in,  and  told  me  to  come  up  and  tell 
you  he  was  here  anyhow." 

"  He  must  excuse  me.  I  never  see  any  one 
in  the  morning,"  Katharine  said  again,  and  re- 
turned to  the  lesson  she  was  engaged  with. 

"  Yes'm." 

The  servant  disappeared,  and  blank  dismay, 
seasoned  with  discontent,  settled  over  the  chil- 
dren. They  had  been  unusually  trying  during 
the  whole  morning,  and  this  interruption  left 
them  almost  unmanageable.  They  felt  that  Miss 
Tresham's  refusal  to  see  Mr.  Annesley  was  an 
outrage  on  themselves ;  and  the  perversity  and 
stupidity  with  which  they  revenged  themselves 
would  have  exhausted  any  patience  less  long- 
suffering  than  hers.  Perhaps  it  exhausted  even 
hers ;  but,  if  so,  she  did  not  afford  them  the 
gratification  of  seeing  it.  On  the  contrary,  she 
sat,  a  model  of  quiet  authority,  and  held  them 
unflinchingly  to  the  task  in  hand  ;  but  it  was  of 
so  little  effect  that,  when  at  last  the  welcome 
stroke  of  twelve  told  their  release  from  the 
school-room,  only  Sara  was  able  to  close  her 
books  and  take  her  departure. 

"  The  rest  of  you  are  kept  in,"  said  Miss 
Tresham,  looking  at  her  watch,  "  and  it  will 
depend  on  yourselves  whether  you  get  through 
in  time  for  dinner.  If  not,  I  shall  leave  you 
here,  and  send  some  bread-and-water  up  to  you. 
— Jack,  take  Levi/ac  there,  and  study  '  moudre ' 
for  recitation ;  Katy,  go  to  your  grammar ;  now, 
Dick,  let  me  see  if  you  are  still  unable  to  cipher 
out  this  sum." 

The  threat  of  bread-and-water  was  not  with- 
out effect  on  Dick's  hitherto  obtuse  brain,  giving 
to  it  a  sudden  insight  into  multiplication  and 
division  which  it  had  lacked  before.  With  little 
further  trouble  the  sum  was  worked  out  to  Miss 
Tresham's  satisfaction  ;  and,  when  he  had  seized 
his  cap  and  scampered  off,  she  was  able  to  turn 
her  attention  to  the  other  delinquents,  who  still 
sulked  in  different  corners  over  their  respective 
grammars. 

They  found  the  struggle  which  they  had  pro- 
voked a  very  hard  one ;  for  the  young  governess 
stood  steadfastly  at  her  post,  and  never  flagged 
in  word  or  sign  all  through  the  weary  hour  which 
followed.  A  very  weary  hour  it  was,  and,  when 
the  dinner-bell  pealed  through  the  house,  she  was 
looking  pale  and  exhausted,  though  the  battle 
was  fought  and  won.  The  two  valiant  cham- 
pions had  just  finished  their  recitations,  and 
were  looking  quite  crestfallen  ns  they  put  away 
their  books  and  closed  their  desks.  Katharine 


THE   ADELAIDE. 


39 


did  not  even  have  time  to  smooth  her  hair,  or 
add  a  single  adorning  touch  to  her  plain  morning- 
costume.  Mrs.  Marks  was  very  punctual  herself, 
and  liked  punctuality  in  other  people,  especially 
with  regard  to  meals ;  so,  with  one  deprecating 
glance  at  the  little  school-room  mirror,  Miss 
Tresham  ran  down-stairs. 

As  she  saw  Ilderim  still  standing  beside  the 
front  gate,  she  did  not  need  the  sound  of  a  cer- 
tain ringing  laugh,  which  came  through  the  open 
door,  to  tell  her  that  Ilderim's  master  was  in  the 
dining-room.  The  next  minute  she  was  shaking 
hands  with  him. 

"  See  how  forgiving  I  am,"  he  said,  with  a 
Bmile.  "  You  refused  to  see  me,  and  I  not  only 
wait  your  pleasure,  but  I  encroach  on  Mrs. 
Marks's  hospitality  without  the  least  remorse. 
Have  you  been  victimizing  those  poor  children 
for  the  last  hour  on  my  account  ?  " 

''  The  matter  lies  just  the  other  way,"  she 
answered.  "  It  is  they  who  have  been  victimiz- 
ing me  on  your  account,  until  I  wished  that  you 
had  timed  your  visit  better.  I  make  no  apolo- 
gies for  not  seeing  you.  I  believe  you  know  my 
school-hours." 

"  I  do  know  them  ;  but  I  thought  you 
might  relax  your  rule  for  once,  since  I  have 
been  away  so  long.  However,  Mrs.  Marks 
was  kind  enough  to  see  me,  and  has  enter- 
tained me  so  well  that  I  did  not  find  the  time 
long." 

"  Indeed,  then,  Mr.  Annesley,  you  must  be 
fond  of  hearing  about  children  and  chickens," 
said  Mrs.  Marks,  with  a  good-humored  laugh ; 
"  for  I  don't  remember  talking  about  any  thing 
else.  I  felt  sorry  for  you,  but  I  knew  there  was 
no  use  in  going  after  Miss  Katharine.  She  never 
will  come  down  in  her  school-hours." 

"  And  you're  quite  right,  Miss  Kate,"  said 
Mr.  Marks.  "  Work  is  work,  and  play  is  play, 
and,  in  my  opinion,  the  two  should  never  be 
mixed  up  together. — Mr.  Annesley,  let  me  help 
you  to  a  piece  of  this  duck. — Bessie,  what  is 
that  you  have  before  you  ?  " 

"  Some  beef  of  my  own  corning,"  answered 
Mrs.  Marks,  with  all  a  housekeeper's  pride. — 
"  Mr.  Annesley,  you  must  take  some,  and  tell  me 
what  you  think  of  it." 

Mr.  Annesley  accepted  a  mammoth  slice,  and, 
with  commendable  industry,  ate  a  considerable 
portion  of  it,  praising  it  the  while  highly ;  it  is  to 
be  hoped,  sincerely. 

Then  the  conversation  turned  upon  the  dif- 
ferent methods  of  corning  beef,  and  a  grave  dis- 
cussion ensued,  in  which  Morton  acquitted  him- 


self with  credit,  and  much  pleased  his  host  and 
hostess. 

These  good  people,  though  even  to  their  own 
hearts  they  would  not  have  acknowledged  such  a 
thing,  were  not  a  little  flattered  by  the  attention 
which  it  had  lately  pleased  the  young  owner  of 
Annesdale  to  show  them — attentions  the  source 
of  which  they  were  shrewd  enough  to  suspect, 
but  which  in  themselves  were  no  slight  tokens 
of  distinction,  as  distinction  was  reckoned  by 
the  Tallahoma  world.  Already  more  than  one 
envious  friend  had  said  to  Mrs.  Marks : 

"  How  often  Mr.  Annesley  comes  to  seo 
you ! " 

To  which  Mrs.  Marks  replied,  quite  indiffer- 
ently : 

"  Yes,  he  is  so  fond  of  the  children,  and 
Richard  likes  him  very  much." 

Therefore,  although  she  sometimes  had  seri- 
ous doubts  concerning  what  was  to  be  the  end 
of  his  evident  fancy  for  Miss  Tresham,  she  could 
not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  discourage  his  visits. 

"  He  is  such  a  gentleman — there  can  be  no 
harm  in  it,"  she  once  said  to  her  husband,  when 
she  felt  an  unusual  qualm  on  the  subject ;  where- 
upon honest  Mr.  Marks  answered  in  his  way : 

"  Harm,  indeed  !  What  harm  could  there 
be  ?  I'll  warrant  him  for  a  gentleman — Edgar 
Annesley's  son  couldn't  well  be  any  thing  else — 
but,  even  if  he  wasn't,  I  should  think  Miss  Tres- 
ham was  old  enough,  and  had  sense  enough,  to 
take  care  of  herself." 

On  the  understanding,  therefore,  that  Miss 
Tresham  was  old  enough,  and  had  sense  enough, 
to  take  care  of  herself,  Mr.  Annesley's  visits  had 
not  been  discouraged.  Indeed,  he  was  so  bright 
a  visitor  that  it  would  have  been  hard  for  any, 
either  gentle  or  simple,  to  close  their  doors  to 
him. 

As  he  sat  at  the  table  now,  it  was  wonderful 
how  he  managed  to  adapt  himself  to  the  tone 
of  his  entertainers.  Often  gay,  always  pleasant, 
and  invariably  courteous,  he  talked  household 
economy  to  Mrs.  Marks,  politics  to  her  husband, 
and  nonsense  to  the  children,  with  an  ease  that 
amused  Katharine.  There  was  none  of  that 
offensive  air  of  "  You  see  I  put  myself  on  your 
level,"  which  some  people  assume  when  they  at- 
tempt this  kind  of  thing ;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
such  a  frank  charm,  such  an  art,  or  rather  such 
a  gift  of  throwing,  not  a  pretence,  but  a  reality 
of  interest  into  every  thing  he  touched,  and  such 
a  happy  power  of  enlivening  the  dullest  subjects^ 
that  the  most  sensitive  person  could  not  have 
found  a  shade  of  patronage  to  resent.  H?  proved 


10 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


•o  entertaining  that  even  Mr.  Marks  lingered  over 
the  meal,  which  was  usually  a  very  business-like 
ceremony  ;  and,  when  at  last  he  rose  to  go,  apol- 
ogized for  Ids  departure. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  must  be  going,"  he 
remarked,  with  genuine  regret.  "  But  I  leave 
you  to  the  ladies,  Mr.  Annesley,  and  I  don't  ex- 
pect you'll  miss  me  much." 

He  knew  perfectly  well  that  his  young  guest 
had  not  come  to  see  him ;  but  he  could  not  rid 
himself  of  an  idea  that  it  was  "  impolite "  to 
leave  him  in  this  way. 

But  Morton  replied  that,  though  he  was  sorry 
to  lose  Mr.  Marks's  company,  he  had  no  doubt 
the  .adies  would  manage  to  take  care  of  him. 
And,  as  the  bank  was  in  need  of  its  cashier, 
Mr.  Marks  said  good-day,  and  departed. 

Immediately  thereupon  Annesley  turned  and 
looked  at  Katharine,  who  was  still  seated  at 
table,  showing  Nelly  how  to  eat  rice-pudding 
without  sharing  it  between  her  dress  and  the 
table-cloth : 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  smile. 
'  Will  you  accept  the  responsibility  ?  " 

"  Is  it  a  very  heavy  one  ?  "  she  inquired.  "  I 
expect — ah,  Nelly,  see  how  you  have  spilled  that 
spoonful ! — I  expect  to  be  equal  to  it,  Mr.  Annes- 
ley, if  you  won't  ask  too  much  in  the  way  of  en- 
tertainment." 

"I  will  only  ask  one  thing,"  said  he — for 
they  and  Nelly  had  all  that  end  of  the  table  to 
themselves,  as  Mrs.  Marks  was  at  the  moment 
giving  some  order  to  one  of  the  servants  at  the 
other,  while  Jack  and  Dick  squabbled  over  a 
custard  in  the  middle. 

"  Well,  and  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  That  you  will  let  this  child  alone,  and  come 
and  sing  something  for  me.  I  have  not  heard 
any  good  music  in  such  a  long  tune.  Not 
since — ' 

"  Since  when  ?  "  she  asked,  as  he  paused. 

"  Since  I  heard  you  last,"  he.  answered,  with 
grave  sincerity. 

Katharine  laughed,  and  made  him  a  little 
bow. 

"  After  such  a  compliment,  I  should  be  very 
ungrateful  if  I  could  refuse. — Mrs.  Marks,  will 
you  come  with  us  to  the  parlor  ?  " 

"  After  a  while,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Marks. 
"  But  don't  wait  for  me. — You,  Jack  1  —  you, 
Dick  ! — Tom,  take  that  custard  from  both  of 
them." 

A  stormy  scene  ensued,  in  the  midst  of  which 
Annesley  and  Katharine  made  an  escape,  shrug- 
ging their  shoulders  in  sympathj  as  they  crossed 


the  passage  and  entered  that  gloomy  solitude 
known  in  the  Marks  household  as  ''  the  par- 
lor." 

A  very  gloomy  solitude  it  was,  for  tlie  chil- 
dren were  strictly  forbidden  to  enter  it,  and, 
being  used  only  on  state  occasions,  it  had  none 
of  that  air  of  comfort  which  pervaded  the  rest 
of  the  house.  The  stiff  horse-hair  chairs  were 
ranged  with  regular  uniformity  against  the  walls, 
while  a  long  sofa,  with  hard  back  and  harder 
seat,  occupied  a  position  on  one  side  of  the  fire- 
place, where  a  brass  fender,  polished  to  the  ex- 
treme of  brightness,  enshrined  two  equally  bright 
andirons  and  a  paper  screen  of  wonderful  device. 
Over  the  mantel  there  was  a  bouquet  of  flowers, 
which  bloomed  all  the  year  round  (under  a  glass 
shade),  a  pair  of  silver  candlesticks,  a  pair  of 
empty  vases,  and  various  similar  articles,  ar- 
ranged with  due  attention  to  mathematical  pre- 
cision. A  round  table  occupied  the  centre  of 
the  floor ;  and  on  this  reposed  various  books  in 
gorgeous  bindings — chiefly  standard  devotional 
works.  In  a  corner  stood  the  piano,  and  near  it 
a  stand  on  which  lay  a  music  portfolio  bearing 
Katharine's  name. 

The  owner  of  this  name  gave  a  slight  shiver 
as  she  entered  the  sacred  apartment,  and,  in- 
stead of  proceeding  directly  to  the  piano,  she 
walked  across  the  floor,  and  opened  one  of  the 
closed  windows.  "  No,  no  ;  not  that  one,"  she 
said,  as  Annesley  moved  toward  another,  with 
the  manifest  intention  of  following  her  example. 
"If  you  open  that,  it  will  let  in  the  sunshine ;  and 
Mrs.  Marks  will  not  allow  such  a  thing,  for  fear 
of  fading  the  carpet.  Though,  I  am  sure,"  added 
she,  with  a  comical  glance  at  the  vivid  hues 
spread  under  her  feet,  "  I  think  the  carpet 
would  be  much  improved  by  a  little  fading. 
However,  that  is  all  a  matter  of  taste.  Now, 
what  shall  I  sing  ?  " 

"  My  old  favorite,"  said  Morton,  lifting  the  lid 
of  the  piano.  "  You  know  what  that  is." 

She  smiled,  sat  down  to  the  instrument,  and, 
softly  touching  the  keys,  began  to  sing  the  "  Ade- 
laide "  of  Beethoven — that  most  pure,  most  ten- 
der, most  spirit-like  strain  that  ever  breathed  in 
immortal  tones  the  common  story  of  our  com- 
mon human  love  !  And  as  she  sang  it — as  the 
glorious  notes  of  the  great  master  soared  aloft  in 
her  rich  young  woice,  as  all  the  sordid  things  of 
life  seemed  to  fade  away,  and  all  earth  to  grow 
more  lovely  in  the  divine  glory  of  that  tide  of 
sound — it  was  not  strange  that  the  passion  which 
is  ever  fed  by  such  strains  as  these  deepened  OD 
the  mobile  face  beside  her  until  one  glance  would 


THE   ADELAIDE. 


have  told  her  the  story  of  his  heart,  without 
any  need  of  words. 

But  she  did  not  give  that  glance.  When 
the  song  ceased,  when  her  voice  fell  into  silence, 
and  the  last  vibration  of  those  mournfully  pas- 
sionate cadences  had  died  away,  she  made  an 
effort  to  speak  lightly ;  and,  without  taking  her 
eyes  from  the  keyboard,  said,  "  Will  you  please 
look  in  that  portfolio  and  find  me  the  Ave  verum  ? 
I  will  sing  it  for  you  to-day,  though  I  could  not 
do  so  the  last  time  you  asked  me." 

Half-mechanically,  he  obeyed — glad  of  a  mo- 
ment's time  in  which  to  collect  himself  before 
the  words  were  uttered  that  he  now  felt  impelled 
to  speak.  Temptation  had  gone  so  far,  that  he 
could  resist  no  longer.  Whatever  might  be  the 
result,  he  must  lay  his  heart  at  this  woman's 
feet,  and  tell  her  that  it  was  hers  to  accept  or 
reject.  That  magic  song  had  stolen  away  all  his 
most  steadfast  resolves ;  for  he  had  never  intend- 
ed to  declare  himself  thus  prematurely.  He  al- 
ways had  meant  to  make  a  formal  demand  for 
his  mother's  consent,  and  then  to  woo  the  girl 
he  loved  as  if  she  had  been  the  one  whom  Fortune 
placed  so  far  above  the  other.  It  was  always  the 
way  of  the  gallant  gentlemen  who  had  borne  his 
name — if  poor  and  humble  the  maiden  whom 
they  loved,  they  sought  her  with  more  state  than 
if  She  had  been  the  highest  in  the  land.  So, 
Morton  had  meant  to  come,  when  he  offered  his 
hand  to  Mr.  Marks's  governess  ;  but  the  sudden 
force  of  passion  was  too  strong  for  him.  Words 
suddenly  rushed  to  his  lips,  and  in  another  mo- 
ment Annesdale  and  all  its  belongings  would 
have  lain  at  Katharine  Tresham's  feet,  if  Fate 
had  not  intervened. 

But,  turning  over,  with  absent  mind  and 
careless  hand,  the  sheets  of  music,  he  came  to 
a  copy  of  the  song  he  had  just  heard,  the  song 
which  had  stirred  every  fibre  of  his  heart — the 
sad,  passionate,  beautiful  "  Adelaide."  As  he 
took  it  up,  there  fell  from  between  the  leaves  an 
open  letter.  He  caught  it,  as  it  was  fluttering 
to  the  floor,  and  almost  unconsciously  his  eyes 
fell  on  the  first  lines.  They  were  written  in  a 
man's  hand,  and  stood  out  black  and  clear  on 
the  white  paper. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATHARINE  :  I  am  terribly  un- 
certain whether  this  letter  will  reach  you,  but  at 

least—" 

This  much  Morton  could  not  avoid  seeing — 
more  than  this,  he  did  not  read.  Indeed,  the 
hot,  sharp  pang  which  shot  through  his  heart 


sent  a  mist  to  his  eyes  which  would  have  pre- 
vented his  doing  so,  if  he  had  felt  such  a  thing 
possible.  Then  he  strove  to  steady  himself. 
Might  not  Katharine,  for  aught  he  knew,  have 
brothers,  uncles,  cousins,  a  dozen  relations,  from 
whom  such  an  address  might  naturally  be  per- 
mitted ?  What  a  jealous  fool  he  was !  He 
would  speak  to  her  immediately,  and  her  first 
look  would  show  him  his  folly.  So  he  did  speak 
— with  just  a  slight  quiver  in  his  voice  to  betray 
his  anxiety. 

"  Miss  Tresham." 

Katharine  turned  quickly,  and,  as  her  glance 
fell  from  his  face  to  the  open  letter  in  his  hand, 
Morton's  heart  gave  a  great  bound — then  sud- 
denly stood  still. 

For  she  did  not  smile  in  recognition  of  a 
friend's  epistle,  nor  blush  that  rosy  red  which 
greets  a  lover's  missive;  she  did  not  hold  out 
her  hand  or  utter  one  word — she  only  turned 
ashen  pale,  and  shivered  from  head  to  foot  as  if 
with  a  sudden  chill.  There  was  an  instant's 
pause :  then  Morton  spoke  hastily,  as  if  eager 
to  relieve  a  possible  fear. 

"  I  found  this  a  moment  ago,  Miss  Tresham. 
Do  you  leave  your  letters  where  any  one  might 
find  and  read  them  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer — only  held  out  her  hand 
toward  him. 

"  It  may  not  be  of  importance,"  he  went  on ; 
"  but  still—" 

"  It  is  of  importance,"  she  broke  in,  passion- 
ately. "  To  think  that  I  should  have  left  it  here ! 
I  must  have  been  mad  !  " 

She  took  the  letter,  and,  walking  to  the  fire- 
place, struck  a  match,  set  it  on  fire,  and  watched 
it  burn  until  the  last  fragment  was  ashes.  Then 
she  shivered  once  more  from  head  to  foot.  "  I 
must  have  been  mad  ! "  she  repeated. 

And  there  was  something  in  the  tone  and 
action  which  settled  like  ice  upon  the  man  who 
loved  her — the  man  who,  a  moment  before,  had 
wellnigh  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  He  could 
sooner  have  put  his  hand  into  the  fire  she  had 
kindled  than  ask  that  question  now.  Not  that 
any  suspicion  of  any  kind  had  entered  his  mind 
against  her,  but  simply  that  he  felt  chilled  to  the 
very  heart.  The  women  who  had  always  made 
his  ideals  of  the  sex  were  women  into  whose 
stainless  lives  there  entered  no  pages  that  all 
the  world  might  not  read ;  and  not  a  worldling 
of  the  world  held  more  firmly  than  this  chivalric 
but  most  fastidious  gentleman  the  great  maxim 
of  the  world,  "  Distrust  secrecy." 

So,  when  Mrs.  Marks  bustled  in  a  few  rain- 


r.' 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


utes  later,  her  advent  was  a  relief  to  him  as  well 
as  to  Katharine,  and,  for  the  half-hour  which  en- 
aued,  that  good  woman  had  all  the  burden  of  con- 
versation on  her  own  shoulders. 

Then  Mr.  Annesley  found  it  was  time  to  go  ; 
BO  he  made  his  adieux  and  took  his  departure — 
riding  very  slowly  from  the  gate  where  Ilderim 
had  stood  so  long,  and  unmindful  of  the  wistful 
glances  sent  after  him  by  poor  little  Katy,  whose 
heart  had  been  set  upon  a  ride. 

When  Katharine  was  left  alone  in  the  parlor, 
her  first  act  was  to  go  and  toss  over  the  little 
feathery  heap  of  ashes  on  the  hearth,  to  see  that 
no  end  of  paper  remained.  Then  she  raised  her 
face  with  a  weary  sigh,  half  of  relief,  half  of 
pain. 

"All  gone!"  she  said,  aloud.  "But  God 
only  knows  when  that  may  come  to  me  which  I 
can  never,  never  cast  from  me,  as  I  now  cast 
these  ashes ! " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HE.    WARWICK    MAKES    AN    OFKEK. 

AFTER  that  day,  the  Marks  household  saw  no 
more  of  Mr.  Annesley  for  some  time.  Even  in 
the  walks  which  Katharine  regularly  took  with 
the  children,  they  ceased  to  meet  him,  as  often 
before ;  and  they  might  have  thought  him  absent 
from  home,  if  they  had  not  seen  him  occasionally 
nde  past  on  his  way  to  and  from  the  village. 
Katy  mourned  this  sudden  desertion  faithfully  ; 
but  even  for  Katy's  heart  there  proved  at  last  to 
be  a  balm  in  Gilead,  and  it  came  in  this  way. 

Between  the  well-cultivated  fields  which  Mr. 
Marks  called  his  own,  and  the  stately  Morton 
woods  that  stretched  to  meet  them,  and  bore  the 
Morton  name  for  many  a  long  mile,  there  lay  a 
strip  of  land  belonging  to  the  latter,  which,  hav- 
ing been  "  thrown  out "  for  years,  had  made  that 
place  dear  to  every  child's  heart — an  old  field 
where  broom-straw  and  young  pines  disputed 
possession  with  blackberry-bushes  and  wild  fruit- 
trees  ;  where  strawberries  by  bushels  were  to  be 
found  in  spring,  and  sweet,  delicate  wild-flowers 
bloomed  in  profusion ;  where  the  boys  of  Talla- 
noma  came  when  they  wanted  to  arrange  strictly 
private  racing  or  shooting  matches  ;  where  there 
was  always  a  ring  ready  for  amateur  circus  per- 
formers ;  where  there  was  a  "  bianch  "  in  which 
minnows  and  crawfish  abounded  (not  to  speak 
of  the  best  possible  mud  for  mud-pies),  and 
where  the  Marks  children  spent  as  much  time, 


the  whole  year  round,  as  was  left  at  their  own 
disposal. 

One  day  they  came  home  from  this  favorite 
resort  full  of  momentous  intelligence — they  had 
made  a  new  acquaintance.  When  the  name  of 
this  new  acquaintance  was  heard,  the  interest  of 
the  elders  was  scarcely  inferior  to  that  of  the 
children ;  for  it  was  Felix  Gordon — the  little 
prince,  as  people  began  to  call  him,  on  account 
of  his  proud  young  beauty  and  grand  young  man- 
ners. 

"  And  he's  downright  jolly,  mamma,"  cried 
Jack,  in  his  vociferous  way.  "  I  thought  he  was 
a  baby,  you  know — having  a  great  big  nurse 
following  him  about  all  the  time ;  but  he  isn't 
a  bit  of  a  one.  And  he  says  he  hates  her ;  and 
he  says  she  ain't  going  to  mind  him  any  more." 

"  But  he's  got  a  boy  that  follows  him  now," 
said  Dick  ;  "  and  he  orders  him  about  just  as  tf 
he  was  a  man." 

"  But  I  thought  his  mother  kept  him  so 
close,  he  was  never  allowed  to  see  anybody  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Marks.  "  He  must  have  been  there 
without  her  knowledge." 

"  He  says  he  can  go  anywhere  he  please 
now,  provided  this  boy  goes  along  with  him,1 
answered  Jack,  whose  volubility  made  him  spokes- 
man for  the  party,  whether  the  others  would  or 
no.  "  He  says  Mr.  Annesley  talked  his  mother 
into  'lowing  it ;  and  he  says  he's  going  to  have 
a  pony  soon  as  ever  Mr.  Annesley  can  find  one 
for  his  mother  to  buy." 

"  And  he  says  I  may  ride  it !  "  broke  in  Katy, 
determined  to  have  an  utterance  on  this  point  at 
least. 

"  My  daughter  ! "  said  her  mother,  reproving- 
ly. "  I  hope  you  were  not  such  a  forward  little 
girl  as  to  ask  him." 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma  ;  he  promised  me  his  own 
self." 

"  Oh,  did  he  ? "  cried  Jack,  sarcastically. 
"  Well,  I  reckon  he  did — after  you'd  been  hint- 
ing like  forty  !  She  told  him  she  liked  riding, 
mamma,  and  she  kep'  a-telling  him  so,  till  he 
was  'bliged  to  ask  her.  Yes,  missy,  you  know 
that's  so ! " 

"  I  don't,"  retorted  the  little  lady,  angrily. 
— "  'Tain't  so,  either,  mamma  ;  he  asked  me  bis 
own  self." 

"  Why  didji't  he  ask  Sara,  too,  then  ?  "  in- 
quired provoking  Jack.  "  She's  a  great  deal 
prettier  than  you  are — you  stuck-up,  forward 
thing ! " 

"  He  did  ask  me,"  said  Sara's  quiet  little 
voice. — "  He  turned  round  and  asked  me  iust 


MR.  WARWICK   MAKES  AN   OFFER. 


43 


after  tie  asked  Katy,  mamma ;  and  just  like  he 
was  a  grown-up  gentleman.  But  I  told  him  no, 
I  was  much  obliged  to  him,  but  I  was  afraid  of 
horses." 

"  And  that  was  what  Katy  ought  to  have 
told  him,"  said  Jack,  looking  severe  reproof  at 
Katy. 

"  But  I  ain't  afraid  of  horses,"  cried  she, 
indignantly ;  "  and  I  oughtn't  to  have  told  a 
story. — Mamma,  he  is  so  nice.  Mayn't  we 
please  go  to  see  him  ? — he  asked  us." 

"  Yes,  mamma,  he  asked  us — mayn't  we  ?  " 
chorussed  all  the  rest. 

But  of  this,  Mrs.  Marks  would  not  hear. 
"  You  may  go  to  see  him,  if  he  comes  to  see 
you,"  she  said ;  "  but  otherwise — certainly  not." 

With  this  condition,  the  children  were  obliged 
to  be  content — trusting  to  their  new  acquaint- 
ance for  its  fulfilment.  But  their  new  acquaint- 
ance either  would  not  or  could  not  fulfil  it.  He 
met  the  little  Markses  every  day  in  their  favorite 
place  of  resort ;  and  every  day  they  brought 
home  more  wonderful  accounts  of  Felix's  say- 
ings and  doings ;  but  Felix  himself  never  ap- 
peared. 

And  so  the  Indian  summer  came  gradually 
to  an  end;  the  soft,  blue  haze  faded  from  the 
landscape ;  a  few  fierce  storms  tore  all  the 
bright  leaves  from  the  trees ;  and  Winter — at 
least  as  much  of  winter  as  the  fair  South  ever 
knows — was  seated  on  his  throne.  His  first  act 
of  power  was  a  nipping  frost,  accompanied  by 
such  a  "  freeze  "  as  had  not  been  known  in  that 
region  of  country  for  a  fabulous  number  of  years 
• — a  freeze  which,  to  the  amazement  of  every- 
body, spread  a  sheet  of  ice  over  a  small  mill-pond 
near  the  town,  and  put  all  the  boys  of  Tallahoma 
figuratively  on  their  heads,  and  literally  on  their 
backs. 

In  the  new  field  of  amusement  thus  opened, 
neither  Jack  nor  Dick  were  behindhand ;  and  one 
day  they  joined  in  begging  Miss  Tresham  to 
come  and  witness  their  prowess.  "  Sara  and 
Katy  want  to  see  some  skating,"  said  the  boys, 
who  were  not  bad  brothers  as  boys  go ;  "  and 
mamma  says  they  can't  come  out  to  the  pond, 
'less  you'll  come  too,  Miss  Tresham.  Please, 
do ;  it's  such  good  fun." 

"  Is  it  ? "  said  Miss  Tresham.  "  But  it  is 
cold  fun,  too,  for  people  who  don't  skate.  Have 
you  got  a  fire  out  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  biggest  sort,"  cried  both  boys,  in  a 
breath.  "  And  we'll  make  it  up  splendid,  if 
you'll  come,  Miss  Tresham." 

Miss   Tresham  looked  doubtfully  out  of  the 


window.  It  was  certainly  cold ;  but  the  boys 
were  anxious  ;  Katy  and  Sara  looked  unutterable 
things ;  she  herself  felt  that  she  needed  exer- 
cise ;  and,  then — the  wind  was  not  blowing ! 
That  is  such  a  great  point  in  a  climate  where 
still  cold  can  never  be  very  dreadful. 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  very  badly  ?  "  she  asked, 
with  a  smile,  of  the  two  little  girls. 

And  they  —  who  knew  by  that  smile  how 
their  cause  was  won — answered,  eagerly  :  "  Oh, 
yes'm  ;  oh,  Miss  Tresham,  indeed  we  do  ! " 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  we  will  walk  out  after 
dinner.  And  as  for  you  " — she  shook  her  finger 
at  the  two  young  skaters — "  if  you  deceive  me 
about  the  fire,  I  will  never  trust  either  of  you 
again." 

They  made  the  most  effusive  promises,  the 
two  young  scamps,  who  were  secretly  burning 
to  be  off.  "  Never  mind,  Miss  Tresham,  /'ll 
see  about  it,"  said  Jack,  grandly.  "  I'll  make 
them  bring  heaps  of  pine-knots,  and  they  shall 
all  be  put  on  when  you  come. — But,  I  say,  Dick, 
look  sharp — it's  time  we  were  off." 

"Off!"  echoed  the  governess.  "Are  you 
not  going  to  wait  for  dinner  ?*" 

"  We  can't,"  said  both  in  a  breath.  "  But 
Mom  Judy  promised  to  have  us  a  basket  ready 
and  we'll  eat  it  on  the  road."  (They  did  not 
mean  the  basket,  but  its  contents.)  "  Don't 
change  your  mind,  Miss  Tresham — we'll  look 
for  you." 

"  You  shall  see  me,"  answered  she.  "  I  hope 
you  will  enjoy  yourselves." 

They  had  the  grace  to  thank  her ;  and  then 
were  off,  running  down  the  passage,  leaping  down 
the  staircase,  as  if  the  fate  of  a  nation  depended 
on  their  speed  ;  and  filling  the  house  with  that 
stir  and  clatter,  that  healthful  noise  and  pervad- 
ing sense  of  vitality,  which  only  the  presence  of 
boys  can  diffuse. 

After  they  were  gone,  Miss  Tresham  and  her 
two  young  charges  drew  near  the  school-room 
fire,  and  waited  for  the  sound  of  the  dinner-bell. 
It  came  at  last,  breaking  in  upon  the  oft-told 
story  of  the  "  Fair  One  with  the  Golden  Locks  ; " 
and  they  went  down  together,  the  children  claim- 
ing each  a  hand  of  their  young  teacher,  and  mak- 
ing quite  a  pretty  picture  when  they  entered  the 
dining-room. 

At  least,  so  a  gentleman  thought  who  was 
standing  before  the  fire  with  a  paper  in  his  hand 
and  at  sight  of  whom  Katy  burst  into  an  excla- 
mation. 

"  Why,  unky  !  I  thought  you  never  came  to 
dinner." 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


"  I  have  come  to-day,  at  any  rate,"  said  he. 
M  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  not  glad  to  see 

me?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  so  glad — ain't  we,  Sara  ?  But, 
unity — "  Here  a  sudden  pause,  and  a  tiptoe 
peeping  into  "  unky's  "  coat-pocket. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  he,  apparently  unconscious 
of  this  fact. 

But  Katy  was  too  busy  for  speech.  She  had 
detected  a  brown-paper  parcel  in  that  receptacle, 
and  she  was  now  intent  on  an  abstraction  of  the 
same — a  design  very  well  favored  by  Mr.  War- 
wick's deep  interest  in  politics.  Then  came  a 
shout, 

"  Oh,  fjara,  look  !  Mamma — Miss  Tresham — 
look!" 

"  French  candy,  I  declare !  "  said  Mrs.  Marks. 
"John,  you  really  ought  not  to  be  so  extrava- 
gant. You  ruin  these  children." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  it's  so  nice  ! "  said  Katy,  with 
a  crystallized  fig  in  one  hand,  and  a  rose-flavored 
triumph  of  confectionery  in  the  other. 

"  So  nice,  is  it  ?  "  said  her  mother,  severely. 
"  And  pray,  wher«  are  your  manners  ?  Have 
you  offered  Miss  Tresham  any? — or  even  your 
uncle  ?  No ;  you  need  not  do  it  now  "  (as  Katy 
penitently  gathered  up  the  paper  in  her  two  little 
hands),  "  I  hear  your  father's  step  on  the  piazza, 
and  dinner  is  ready. — Tom,  put  that  candy  on  the 
mantel-piece." 

.  "  May  I  have  it  as  soon  as  dinner's  over, 
mamma  ?  "  asked  Katy,  watching,  with  regretful 
eyes,  the  elevation  of  the  candy. 

"  Yes,  you  may  have  it ;  and  I  hope  you  will 
offer  the  rest  of  us  some,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  tak- 
ing her  seat  at  the  head  of  the  table.  "  I  am 
fond  of  candy  myself. — Well,  my  dear,  it  is  cold 
out — is  it  not  ?  " 

This  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Marks,  who,  com- 
ing in  from  the  outer  world  with  the  state  of  the 
thermometer  written  legibly  on  his  nose,  made 
straight  for  the  fireplace. 

"  Cold !  I  should  think  so,  indeed,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Almost  cold  enough  to  nip  a  man's 
ears.  I  never  saw  such  a  spell  of  weather  but 
once  before  in  my  life." 

"  And  that  was  not  in  December,  I  am  sure," 
said  Mr.  Warwick,  surrendering  possession  of  the 
hearth-rug. 

"  No ;  I  never  saw  any  thing  like  it  in  Decem- 
ber before,"  answered  Mr.  Marks,  standing  with 
hfs  back  to  the  fire,  and  critically  scanning  the 
table  over  his  wife's  head.  "  Our  mild  weather 
always  lasts  until  after  New-Year." 

"  Last  Christmas  we  had  garden  roses  on  the 


dinner-table,"  said  Katharine ;  "  but  the  poor 
bushes  are  melancholy  sights  now.  Did  you 
notice  them  as  you  came  through  the  garden,  Mr. 
Warwick  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Warwick.  "  Youi 
cloth-of-gold  buds,  especially.  The  frost  did 
not  spare  you  even  one." 

"  Mr.  Annesley'll  send  her  some  prettier  flow- 
ers," remarked  Katy.  "  He  always  does  ;  and  I 
like  them  better  than  ours." 

"  No  doubt  of  that,  you  true  daughter  of 
Eve  ! "  said  Mr.  Warwick,  who  had  sufficient  dis- 
cretion to  remove  his  eyes  from  Katharine's  face, 
and  transfer  them  to  the  saucy  little  speaker 
"  It  would  be  all  the  same,  too,  if  we  had  the 
japonicas,  and  Mr.  Annesley  sent  the  roses.- 
What  is  it,  Bessie  ?  " 

"Do  come  to  dinner,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  who 
had  finished  piling  the  ham  before  her  with 
well-cut  slices,  and  was  at  leisure  to  observe 
that  the  leg  of  mutton,  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  had  ceased  to  steam.  "  Richard,  you  are 
surely  warm  by  this  time  ?  " 

"  Moderately,"  said  Mr.  Marks,  as  he  left  the 
fire  with  a  regretful  sigh  and  went  round  to  his 
seat,  which  had  two  comfortable  sluices  of  air 
blowing  upon  it  from  two  ill-fitting  windows. 
After  his  short  grace  was  finished,  and  he  be- 
gan to  carve  the  leg  of  mutton,  he  observed  the 
absence  of  Jack  and  Dick. 

"  So  those  young  scamps  are  off  to  the  pond 
again  ! "  he  said.  "  I  wonder  they  don't  kill 
themselves.  Everybody  seems  pond-crazy  !  All 
Tallahoma  has  gone  out  on  a  general  jollifica- 
tion." 

"  We  are  going,  too,  papa,"  cried  Katy,  eag- 
erly. "  Miss  Tresham  is  going  to  take  us  this 
evening." 

"  Is  she  ?  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  Miss  Tresham, 
then.  I  know  you  little  ones  have  tormented  her 
into  it." 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Tresham,  speaking  for  her- 
self, "I  shall  really  enjoy  the  walk.  How  far  is 
it  to  the  pond  ?  " 

"A  good  two  miles,"  said  Mr.  Warwick 
"  Rough  miles,  too ;  so  I  would  advise  thick 
shoes  and  warm  wrappings." 

Dinner  went  off  in  short  order ;  and,  wnen 
it  was  over,  the  children  ran  for  their  cloaks  and 
hoods  without  demanding  the  candy,  which  Mrs. 
Marks  suggested  should  be  taken  along  and 
feasted  on  beside  the  pond. 

"  Wrap  up  your  best,"  said  Mr.  Warwick, 
with  a  smile,  as  the  young  governess  rose  to 
follow.  "  I  shall  stay  here  to  see — and  admire." 


MR.  WARWICK   MAKES   AN   OFFER. 


45 


he  added,  when  the  door  had  closed  on  her. — 
"  What  a  pretty  creature  she  is,  Bessie  !  " 

"  And  as  good  as  she  is  pretty,"  said  Mrs. 
Marks,  enthusiastically.  "  The  children  love  the 
very  ground  she  walks  on ;  and,  if  ever  I  had 
a  lucky  day  in  my  life,  it  was  the  day  I  met 
Katharine  Tresham." 

The  table  was  cleared  off,  draped  with  its 
bright-crimson  cover,  and  wheeled  into  its  ac- 
customed corner;  the  last  plate  and  goblet 
whisked  away  to  the  pantry,  the  fire  replen- 
ished, the  hearth  swept,  the  cheery  dining-room 
looking  the  cheeriest,  when  Katharine  came  in 
again. 

She  found  Mr.  Warwick  the  only  occupant 
of  the  room — Mr.  Marks  having  gone  into  town, 
and  Mrs.  Marks  into  the  kitchen.  It  was  that 
important  era  in  housekeeping  known  as  "  hog- 
killing  time,"  and  the  lard  and  the  sausages  ab- 
sorbed Mrs.  Marks  almost  as  much  as  the  pig- 
tails and  the  roasting  thereof  distracted  the  chil- 
dren. Katharine  was  not  surprised  to  find  her 
gone,  but  she  was  surprised  to  see  Mr.  Warwick, 
who  looked  up  from  his  newspaper  as  she  en- 
tered. 

"  Ready  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  gave  you  thirty  min- 
utes, and  you  have  only  taken  fifteen.  Well — " 
with  an  amused  glance  from  her  bonnet  to  her 
shoes — "  I  think  you  can  safely  defy  the  weath- 
er." 

"  I  think  I  am  ridiculously  wrapped  up,"  an- 
swered she ;  "  but  panics  are  infectious.  You 
have  all  been  talking  about  the  cold  till  I  de- 
luded myself  into  a  belief  that  it  must  be  Sibe- 
ria ;  while  the  truth  is,  that  I  opened  my  window 
just  before  I  came  down,  and  it  is  absolutely 
pleasant." 

"So  much  the  better  for  your  walk,  then. 
But  I  think  you'll  change  your  mind  when  you 
are  once  out-of-doors." 

Just  here  there  was  a  rush  in  the  passage 
outside,  and  the  two  little  girls  flashed  into  the 
room  in  their  warm  cloaks  and  bright-crimson 
hoods.  Then  came  an  outcry. 

"  Why,  Miss  Tresham's  all  ready,  and  we 
don't  have  to  wait — how  nice ! " 

"  Katy,  don't  forget  about  the  candy." 

"  TJnky,  please  hand  me  down  the  candy." 

"  Do  it  up  tight." 

"  Miss  Tresham,  please  tie  this  knot.  I  can't 
get  my  gloves  off." 

"  You  little  torment ! "  said  Miss  Tresham. 

"  How  can  I  do  it  when  I  have  my  own  gloves 
in  ?  Ask  Mr.  Warwick." 

"  Unky,  please." 
4 


"  I  suspect  Miss  Tresham  could  do  it  better 
with  gloves  than  I  can  without,"  said  "  unky." 

But  he  tied  the  knot  very  deftly,  neverthe- 
less ;  and  then  slipped  the  package  into  his 
pocket,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  Katy  and 
Sara,  who  raised  a  frightened  cry  of  expostula- 
tion. 

"  Unky !  " 

"  Oh,  that's  Indian-gift ! " 

But  the  Indian-giver  turned  quietly  to  the 
governess. 

"  May  I  go  along,  if  I  promise  to  show  you 
the  best  road,  and  not  to  promote  any  disturb- 
ances ?  " 

Katharine  looked  surprised. 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  Mr.  Warwick  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  am  in  earnest,"  said  Mr.  War- 
wick. "  I  came  home  for  the  purpose  of  taking 
these  little  ones  out ;  but  they  will  enjoy  your 
company  more  than  mine.  Only,  as  I  don't  like 
to  break  up  my  day  for  nothing,  may  I  go 
too  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  you  may.  —  Children,  do  you 
hear  ?  Your  uncle  is  going  with  us." 

The  afternoon  was  dazzlingly  bright  when 
they  went  out  into  it;  and  Mr.  Warwick  was 
soon  forced  to  acknowledge  that  Katharine's 
judgment  of  the  temperature  was  better  than 
his  own.  Being  bright  and  still,  the  atmosphere 
had  softened  very  much,  and  seemed  to  them 
almost  mild  as  they  walked  in  the  full  glow  of 
the  winter  sun. 

"  This  will  be  the  last  day  of  skating,"  said 
Mr.  Warwick.  "  Indeed,  I  doubt  if  the  ice  ia 
safe  now.  I  think  I  shall  stop  Jack  and  Dick 
as  soon  as  we  get  there." 

"  Even  if  the  ice  broke,  is  the  water  deep 
enough  to  drown  anybody  ?  "  asked  Katharine, 
to  whom  a  mill-pond  did  not  suggest  any  thing 
much  to  be  feared. 

"  It  is  not  less  than  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  in 
depth,"  said  her  companion.  "  I  used  to  swim 
in  it  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  I  know  it  well — be- 
sides, the  waters  are  very  full  just  now.  On  the 
whole,  I  think  those  young  gentlemen  had  better 
rest  on  their  laurels." 

"  If  there  is  any  danger,  yes,  indeed.  But 
we  can't  stop  them  now  ;  so  please  don't  let  ua 
talk  about  it  and  make  ourselves  uncomforta- 
ble." 

They  did  not.  On  the  contrary,  they  talked 
of  other  things  much  more  agreeable.  Mr.  War- 
wick could  not  help  feeling  that  many  a  man 
might  have  envied  him  his  position,  and  that 
there  had  seldom  been  a  lighter  form  or  a 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


brighter  face  than  the  one  now  walking  beside 
and  smiling  upon  him  ;  while  Katharine,  for  her 
part,  had  never  been  one  of  the  girls  who  can 
find  little  or  nothing  to  say  to  a  man  who  is  not 
young  enough  or  foolish  enough  to  be  converted 
into  an  admirer.  Indeed,  these  two  had  been 
friends  in  a  certain  reserved  but  sincere  fashion 
ever  since  the  young  governess  entered  the  Marks 
household.  She  was  often  more  nearly  approach- 
ing the  confidential  with  him  than  with  any  one 
else ;  and  they  fell  into  something  of  a  personal 
strain  now  as  they  walked  along  the  rough  foot- 
path, and  troubled  themselves  no  more  about 
the  children  than  just  to  keep  their  crimson 
hoods  in  sight. 

"  Y6s,  I  pity  you,"  Mr.  Warwick  was  saying, 
"  and  all  the  more  because  you  don't  seem  to 
pity  yourself.  If  you  were  discontented,  prob- 
ably I  should  not  trouble  myself  to  sympathize 
with  you.  But,  as  it  is,  I  think  very  often  that 
you  have  a  hard  lot  for  such  a  young  person." 

"  Many  people  younger  than  I  am  have  a 
much  harder  one,"  said  Katharine,  quietly. 
"  Does  that  never  occur  to  you  ?  It  always  does 
to  me." 

"  But  not  people  who  seem  so  essentially  born 
and  fitted  for  other  things." 

"  What  sort  of  things  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  think  you  know.  Wealth,  luxury,  the 
appliances  of  refinement,  the  power  of  being 
generous — for  I  think  you  would  be  generous 
if  you  had  the  power — and  of  putting  your  tal- 
ents to  some  better  use  than  their  present  one." 

A  flush  came  over  the  girl's  face  as  he  spoke, 
but  died  away  before  he  finished. 

"  That  is  the  way  my  own  vanity  speaks  to 
me  sometimes,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  never  listen  to 
such  suggestions.  I  go  and  get  Dick's  sum,  or 
Sara's  exercise,  and  drum  away  the  phantom  with 
the  rule  of  three  or  the  vocative  case." 

"  But  it  comes  back?  " 

"  Yes,  sometimes.  Then  there  is  nothing  to 
be  done  but  to  face  it  boldly,  and  ask  myself  if  I 
am  really  so  weak  and  vain  as  to  think  myself 
better  than  the  millions  who  have  toiled  to  their 
lives'  ends,  more  humble  and  more  unknown 
than  I  am ;  if  better  talents  than  any  of  mine 
have  not  gone  down  into  the  dust  soundless ; 
and  if" — her  voice  sauk  slightly  here — "I  am 
wiser  than  He  who  orders  our  lives  for  us  from 
their  beginning  even  to  their  end." 

"And  then?" 

"  And  then  I  think  that  I  cannot  be  suf- 
ficiently grateful  for  all  the  blessings  my  life  has 
known ;  and  I  try  to  crush  down  the  vanity  and 


self-love  which — let  us  disguise  it  as  we  may,  is, 
after  all,  the  root  of  most  of  our  discontent.  We 
think  too  highly  of  ourselves  and  our  own  deserts. 
If  we  would  only  try  to  recognize  ourselves  as  we 
really  are,  we  should  feel  so  ashamed  of  our  re- 
pining tliat  I  think  we  would  be  content  ever 
afterward  to  take  whatever  God  is  good  enough 
to  give  us,  and  leave  the  choice  of  good  or  bad 
fortune  to  Him." 

"  Do  you  speak  from  experience  ?  " 

She  smiled  a  little. 

"  Can't  you  tell  that  ?  One  reads  such  things 
in  books,  but  one  only  learns  them  in  one's  own 
heart.  It  seems  to  me  it  is  always  easy  to  tell 
whether  it  has  been  read  or  learned." 

Mr.  Warwick  did  not  reply  ;  and  they  walked 
on  silently  for  some  time,  no  sound  breaking  the 
stillness  save  the  echo  of  their  own  tread  and  the 
children's  merry  tones  floating  back  through  the 
clear  air.  Just  here  their  road  was  through  a 
pine-f  rest  ;  the  tall,  straight  trunks  rose  on 
every  side ;  the  deep,  sombre  green  stretched 
away  far  as  the  eye  could  view  ;  the  golden  sun- 
shine streamed  with  a  mellow  brightness  through 
the  stately  arcades ;  and,  although  there  was 
only  a  slight  breeze  stirring  the  tree-tops,  the 
sound  above  their  heads  was  like  the  distant 
murmur  of  the  sea.  It  put  Katharine  strangely 
in  mind  of  the  ocean;  and,  together  with  the 
soft  carpet  of  pine-straw  under  their  feet,  and 
the  aromatic  fragrance  of  the  forest  around, 
came  back  to  her  afterward — recalling  that  after- 
noon, and  giving  its  events  a  picture-like  distinct- 
ness in  her  memory.  At  last  Mr.  Warwick  said, 
thoughtfully : 

"  It  is  not  even  as  if  you  had  been  born  to 
this  sort  of  thing." 

"  But  I  was  born  to  it,"  she  answered,  quickly. 
"  All  my  life  I  knew  that  some  day  I  must  earn 
my  own  bread.  That  was  the  reason  why  my 
aunt — my  dear,  kind  aunt — was  so  careful  to 
educate  me  thoroughly.  She  could  give  me  noth- 
ing besides  an  education." 

Almost  before  he  had  time  to  consider  the 
incivility  of  the  question,  Mr.  Warwick  had 
asked  "  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  she  was  an  officer's  widow,  and  her 
pension  ended  with  her  life,"  Katharine  answered. 
"  But,  while  she  lived,  I  had  a  very  happy  time 
— and,  after  Jhat,  it  did  not  matter." 

Her  voice  choked,  as  she  uttered  the  last 
words ;  and  her  companion  did  not  need  to 
glance  at  her,  to  know  why  she  drew  down  her 
veil  so  hastily.  lie  gave  her  time  to  recovei 
herself,  and  then  said,  kindly : 


MR.  WARWICK   MAKES  AN   OFFER. 


47 


"  Courage.  Remember  how  young  you  are. 
Happiness  may  come  to  you  yet,  in  the  form  you 
like  best." 

"  And  what  is  that  form  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly,  as  he  had 
a  habit  of  doing  over  any  knotty  point  of  legal 
evidence. 

"  I  may  be  mistaken,  but  it  seems  to  me  you 
would  like  best  the  happiness  that  could  give 
you  all  those  things  of  which  you  have  so  keen 
an  appreciation  —  pictures,  music,  amusement, 
and  the  admiration  which  all  women  value  so 
highly." 

"  I  certainly  like  all  those  things,"  said  Kath- 
arine, with  a  little  sigh ;  "  but  I  assure  you,  I 
can  live  without  them  and  be  happy  too.  No, 
Mr.  Warwick,  you  have  not  hit  upon  the  one  great 
gift  which  Happiness  must  bring  in  her  hand 
when  she  comes  to  me — or  else  not  be  happiness 
at  all." 

Mr.  Warwick  looked  at  her  intently.  Did 
she  mean  Morton  Anncsley's  love,  he  wondered. 
If  so,  why  did  she  speak  of  it  thus  frankly  to 
him  ?  It  was  not  like  Katharine  Tresham  to 
do  so.  "  Tell  me  what  it  is  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  clear,  gray  eyes — pure  and  truthful  as 
God's  noonday — met  his  own,  as  she  answered, 
quietly  :  "  It  is  the  gift  of  peace." 

After  that,  nothing  was  said  for  several  min- 
utes. Katy  came  dancing  back  with  a  spray  of 
holly  which  was  duly  admired,  and  which,  at 
her  request,  Katharine  fastened  in  her  brooch. 
Then,  after  she  ran  forward  again,  Mr.  Warwick 
spoke : 

u  Miss  Tresham,  I  am  going  to  say  some- 
thing which  may  seem  impertinent,  but  which,  I 
trust,  you  will  take  as  it  is  meant — in  simple 
kindness.  I  have  noticed,  for  some  time  past, 
that  you  have  not  been  quite  yourself,  that  you 
have  grown  thin,  that  your  spirits  are  less  even 
than  heretofore,  and  that  some  trouble  is  evi- 
dently preying  upon  you.  Is  not  this  so  ?  " 

Katharine  caught  her  breath,  paling  percep- 
tibly. "  I  hoped  no  one  had  noticed  it,"  she 
said. 

"I  am  sure  I  may  safely  say  that  no  one  but 
myself  has  done  so,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  a 
very  close  observer — Nature  gave  me  the  habit, 
and  my  profession  has  taught  me  its  importance 
— but  you  are  a  very  good  dissembler.  The  trifles 
in  which  you  have  betrayed  yourself  were  light. 
as  air ;  but  the  driftwood  shows  the  direction  of 
the  current,  you  know.  I  did  not  need  to  hear 
what  you  said  a  moment  ago,  to  convince  me 
that  something  is  wrong  with  you.  If  it  is  any 


thing  ideal,  I  can  do  nothing  for  you  ;  but  if  U 
is  any  practical  trouble,  such  as  comes  to  us  all 
sooner  or  later,  why,  I  trust  you  believe  me  to 
be  your  friend." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  simply ;  "  I  am  glad  to  be- 
lieve it." 

"And  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so;  for 
I  have  watched  you  closely,  ever  since  you 
entered  my  sister's  house,  and  I  have  never  yet 
known  you  to  trifle  with  truth.  That,  first,  made 
me  like  you,  I  think — for,  of  all  virtues,  it  is  at 
once  the  greatest  and  the  rarest.  If  you  believe 
me  to  be  your  friend,  there  is  not  much  more  to 
add.  A  woman — even  a  woman  as  brave  as  you 
are — is  such  a  helpless  creature  in  the  world,  that 
she  is  often  made  to  suffer  acutely  through  her 
weakness  and  her  ignorance.  In  any  emergency, 
therefore,  I  hope  you  will  remember  that  my  ser- 
vices are  at  your  command." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Katharine,  lifting  her  face 
toward  him,  with  a  grateful  light  shining  over 
it.  "  You  are  very  kind,  and  there  is  no  one  to 
whom  I  would  as  soon  go.  But — "  she  paused  a 
moment,  and  added,  slowly — "  I  must  bear  my 
burden  alone." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her.  The  light  had 
faded,  and  the  young  face  seemed  to  have  hard- 
ened into  a  self-contained  power  of  endurance. 
The  mouth  was  set,  the  eyes  were  resolute,  and, 
as  she  met  his  glance,  she  repeated  her  words  in 
the  same  tone : 

"  I  must  bear  my  burden  alone." 

"  I  cannot  help  you  ?  " 

"  No.  You  are  very  good  ;  but  only  He  who 
laid  it  on  me  can  take  it  away." 

Again  they  walked  on  silently  ;  and  the  law- 
yer felt  half  inclined  to  indulge  in  his  quiet, 
cynical  shrug.  "  It  is  Annesley,  after  all,"  he 
thought.  "  What  a  fool  I  was  to  suppose  it  could 
be  any  thing  else — and  a  still  greater  fool  to 
make  such  an  offer  !  The  very  pine-trees  might 
afford  to  laugh  at  the  idea  of  my  playing  confidant 
and  consoler  in  a  love-affair ! " 

Then  he  glanced  at  the  face  beside  him,  and 
felt  again  a  sudden  conviction  that  it  was  not  An- 
nesley— not  any  cross  in  love,  or  ordinary  heart- 
disaster — which  brought  such  a  look  of  suffering 
and  resolve  to  those  earnest  eyes.  An  impulse 
hardly  to  be  accounted  for,  and  not  at  all  to  be 
analyzed,  made  him  suddenly  extend  his  hand, 
and  place  it  on  Katharine's  arm. 

"  One  word  more,"  he  said.  "  You  are  en- 
tirely unprotected  by  any  friend  or  relative  ;  this 
fact  must  excuse  the  request  I  am  about  to  make. 
Will  you  promise  to  come  to  me  if  you  ever  stand 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


In  greater  need  than  you  do  at  present  of  service 
or  advice  ?  " 

Katharine  paused  and  looked  at  him  wist- 
fully. "  Mr.  Warwick,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  can- 
not promise  what  I  am  never  likely  to  per- 
form." 

"  You  mean— ?" 

"  I  mean  what  I  said  before — that  I  can  only 
carry  my  burden  to  God,  and  He  only  can  release 
me  from  it." 

The  keen  lawyer-glance  regarded  her  earn- 
estly— searching,  perhaps,  for  some  shadow  of 
shame  or  fear — but  it  only  found  a  steady  dig- 
nity op  the  pale  face,  and  an  open  candor  in  the 
eyes  that  looked  brave  enough  to  face  death  it- 
self unflinchingly. 

"  You  are  strong — for  a  woman,"  he  said, 
after  a  while ;  "  but  your  hour  of  weakness  may 
come.  I  hope  you  will  remember,  then,  that  my 
offer  still  holds  good." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  quietly,  "  I  will  remem- 
ber it  with  gratitude." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said.  They 
resumed  their  walk,  and,  after  a  minute,  fell  into 
other  topics — talking  until  they  caught  a  glimpse 
of  frozen  water  shining  through  the  trees,  and 
Katy  called  out,  joyfully  : 

"  Here  we  are !  here's  the  pond  ! " 

"  Here  is  the  pond,  certainly ;  but  here  are 
not  the  skaters,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  glancing 
over  the  sheet  of  water  which  lay  all  silent  and 
glittering  before  them.  "  They  must  be  lower 
down — ah !  yes,  I  see  them  now.  This  way,  Miss 
Tresham." 

He  led  the  way  around  a  small  headland,  for 
the  outline  of  the  pond  was  very  irregular,  and 
a  picturesque  scene  burst  suddenly  upon  them — 
a  scene  vivid  with  color,  and  bright  with  animated 
motion,  set  in  the  midst  of  the  winter  landscape. 
This  portion  of  the  pond  was  alive  with  skaters 
in  every  stage  of  proficiency  and  non-proficiency. 
One  or  two  seemed  at  home  on  their  skates,  a 
few  managed  to  keep  their  feet  and  move  with  a 
tolerable  degree  of  ease ;  but  the  vast  majority 
were  hopelessly  sliding  about,  and  ignominiouslv 
falling  down  every  other  minute,  to  their  own  dis- 
comfiture and  the  immense  amusement  of  the 
spectators  on  the  shore.  These  spectators  were 
not  by  any  means  contemptible  in  point  of  num- 
bers, for  three  large  fires  were  blazing  as  only 
lightwood  can  blaze,  and  grouped  around  and 
about  each  were  knots  of  young  people,  chil- 
dren, and  servants.  In  the  background  stood 
several  empty  carriages,  and  quite  a  goodly  array 
af  horses.  Camp-stools  and  baskets  abounded, 


bright  shawls  were  laid  over  the  roots  of  trees 
to  form  impromptu  easy-chairs,  gay  scarfs  and 
hoods  dangled  from  the  boughs,  the  golden  sun 
shine  streamed  over  all  with  a  glory  and  beaut) 
entirely  its  own,  and  the  majestic  forest  stretched 
around  in  its  solemn  grandeur. 

Katy  and  Sara  darted  forward,  while  Miss 
Tresham  and  Mr.  Warwick  followed  more  slowly 
toward  the  nearest  fire.  As  they  npproached, 
two  ladies  and  two  gentlemen,  who  were  stand- 
ing directly  in  front  of  it,  drew  back,  and  Ka- 
tharine  found  herself  facing  Mrs.  French,  Miss 
Vernon,  Mr.  Annesley,  and  a  stranger  whom  she 
had  never  seen.  Neither  of  the  fcidies  noticed 
her,  excepting  by  a  stare — well-bred  on  Miss 
Vernon's  part,  ill-bred  on  Mrs.  French's — but 
Morton  bowed  as  if  to  a  grande  dame,  and  the 
other  gentleman  gave  a  glance  of  the  most  un- 
disguised admiration. 

"  What  a  pretty  woman,  Annesley  ! "  Katha- 
rine heard  him  say,  after  she  had  passed.  "  It 
can't  possibly  be  one  of  the  Tallahoma  belles." 

Annesley's  reply  was  inaudible ;  but  its  tenor 
was  easily  to  be  surmised,  from  the  long 
"  Whew ! "  which  was  his  companion's  com- 
ment, and  which,  evidently,  would  not  have 
been  the  only  one  if  Mrs.  French  had  not 
broken  in. 

"  Quite  a  nice  person,  too,  I  have  heard — 
that  is,  for  her  position.  She  has  something  of 
good  style  about  her,  don't  you  think  so,  Irene? 
I  wonder  where  she  got  that  pelisse — the  cut  of 
it  is  excellent.  But  look  at  the  fur  on  it — real 
sable,  my  dear,  as  sure  as  you  live.  What  very 
bad  taste — for  her ! " 

"Why  for  her,  Adela?"  asked  the  bluff, 
frank  tones  that  were  certainly  not  Morton's. 
"  Why  shouldn't  she  wear  a  pretty  thing  as 
well  as  other  women  ?  I  suspect  she  needs  all 
the  consolation  that  pelisses  and  furs  can  givo 
her." 

"  Don't  talk  so  loud,  Frank,  and  don't  be  so 
silly,"  was  the  unceremonious  reply.  "  People 
ought  to  dress  according  to  their  rank  5n  life,  or 
else  what's  the  good  of  there  being  ranks  in 
life?  For  my  part,  when  I  see  anybody  dressed 
so  absurdly,  I  feel  as  if  I  never  wanted  to  put 
on  a  handsome  thing  again." 

"I  wish  you  would  stay  of  that  mind," 
laughed  the»  gentleman.  And  Katharine  felt 
certain  that  he  was  the  legal  possessor  of  all 
Mrs.  French's  pretty  toilets,  and  all  Mrs.  French's 
long  bills  ! 

"  Shall  we  go  over  to  the  next  fire  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Warwick,  whose  face  looked  amused  and 


THE   GORDON   PLAID. 


49 


jontemptuous  both  at  once.  "  I  think  it  is  bet- 
ter than  this." 

Katharine  assented,  and  they  moved  away, 
just  as  Miss  Vernon's  clear  tones  sounded  with 
quite  a  bell-like  distinctness. 

"  I  think  a  pretty  woman  has  a  right  to 
adorn  her  beauty  to  the  utmost  of  her  power, 
wherever  she  may  be  placed.  That  is  one  right 
of  the  sex  for  which  I  shall  always  be  an  advo- 
cate, Adela." 

"  But  the  working-classes,  Irene — " 

"  We  are  not  speaking  of  the  working- 
classes,"  interrupted  the  other,  with  a  very  cool 
disdain  in  her  voice.  "  We  are  speaking  of  a 
member  of  a  liberal  profession,  I  thought.  I 
hear  that  Miss  Tresham  is  very  charming,  and 
for  a  long  time  I  have  had  a  fancy  to  know  her. 
— Mr.  Annesley,  you  are  a  friend  of  hers ;  will 
you  introduce  me  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,  Miss  Vernon,"  said  Morton, 
coloring  quickly.  "I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do 
so,  if  you  are  in  earnest." 

"  Of  course  I  am  in  earnest. — Adela,  won't 
you  come  also  ?  " 

"  I  ?  "  Mrs.  French  drew  back  in  astonish- 
ment. "  Irene,  you  are  surely  jesting — you  are 
surely  not  going  to  be  introduced  to  Mrs. 
Marks's  governess  ?  " 

"  You  will  see,"  said  Irene,  with  a  slight 
nod  and  a  merry  laugh.  "  Carry  her  to  the  car- 
riage if  she  faints,  Frank. — Mr.  Annesley,  may 
I  take  your  arm  ?  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE     GORDON     PLAID. 

THE  latter  part  of  this  conversation  Katharine 
had  not  heard.  She  had  moved  away  to  the 
other  fire,  and  was  talking  to  Mr.  Warwick  about 
Jack's  skating.  So  her  surprise  was  entirely  un- 
affected when  Annesley's  voice  spoke  her  name, 
and,  turning,  she  saw  him  standing  close  beside 
her,  with  a  beautiful,  golden-haired  vision  lean- 
ing on  his  arm. 

"  Miss  Tresham,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  "  allow 
me  to  present  Miss  Vernon.  She  is  anxious  to 
make  your  acquaintance,  and — " 

"  Hopes  you  do  not  object  to  having  it 
taken  by  storm,"  interrupted  Miss  Vernon,  offer- 
ing her  hand.  "  You  must  excuse  me,  if  this 
fa  an  unceremonious  proceeding,  Miss  Tresham ; 
but  I  am  very  anxious  to  know  you,  and  I  hope 
you  do  not  object  to  knowing  me." 


It  would  have  been  hard  to  do  so  under  the 
influence  of  that  gracious  smile — for  Irene  Ver- 
non could  be  very  gracious  when  she  chose — and 
Katharine  answered,  with  her  usual  simplicity 
of  word  and  tone  : 

"  You  do  me  too  much  honor,  Miss  Vernon. 
I  am  very  glad  to  know  you." 

"Are  you?"  asked  Miss  Vernon.  "Is  not 
that  speech  a  mere  effort  of  courtesy  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  an  effort  of  courtesy,"  answered 
Katharine,  smiling ;  "  but  it  is  true,  also." 

"  Then  I  may  congratulate  myself  upon  mak- 
ing a  favorable  impression  for  once  in  my  life," 
said  the  young  lady.  "  People  don't  usually  like 
me  when  they  first  know  me ;  in  fact,  some  of 
them  don't  ever  like  me  at  all." 

"  Don't  they  ?  "  said  Katharine,  amused  at 
this  frank  confession.  "  That  is  strange ;  for  I 
should  think  you  would  always  be  liked." 

"  Are  you  always  liked  ?  " 

«  Well — really,  I  don't  know.  But  I  think  I 
am  rather  popular — at  least  with  these."  And 
she  laid  her  hand  on  Katy's  curly  head. 

"  Their  good-will  is  not  worth  much,"  said 
Miss  Vernon,  carelessly.  "  It  is  so  cheap — a  few 
sugar-plums  will  buy  it." 

"And  won't  different  sugar-plums  buy  the 
good-will  of  older  people  just  as  easily  ?  "  asked 
Morton,  abruptly. 

"  So  you  have  turned  cynic  !  "  said  Miss  Ver- 
non, glancing  round  at  him.  "  I  thought  you 
left  that  to  me." 

"  Don't  slander  my  favorite  objects  of  trust, 
then,"  answered  he,  laughing.  "  I  must  be- 
lieve in  children,  or  in  nobody. — Katy,  don't 
you  mean  to  come  and  kiss  me  ?  " 

While  Katy,  nowise  loath,  went  to  bestow  this 
favor,  Miss  Vernon  turned  with  a  shrug  to  her 
new  acquaintance. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  thinks  that  child  would  like 
him  if  he  were  poor  and  ugly  ?  " 

"  She  likes  me,"  said  Katharine,  smiling, 
"  and  I  am  neither  rich  nor  beautiful." 

"  You  are  lovable,  though,  and  that  is  bet- 
ter than  either,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  with  a  slight 
sigh. 

Katharine  looked  up  in  surprise ;  but,  be- 
fore she  could  answer  this  unexpected  compli- 
ment, the  young  lady  had  turned  to  Mr.  War- 
wick, and  was  asking  him  if  he  meant  to  skate. 

"  I  ?  "  he  said,  laughing.  "  What  have  I 
done.  Miss  Vernon,  that  you  should  suspect  me 
of  such  an  indiscretion  ?  " 

"  You  have  worn  a  pair  of  skates,  Mr.  War- 
wick ;  for  I  heard  Mrs.  Raynor  say  this  morning 


50 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


that  John  Warwick — isn't  your  name  John? — 
was  the  only  person  she  ever  saw  who  seemed  at 
home  on  the  ice." 

44  Twenty-five  years  ago,  the  compliment  may 
have  been  merited ;  but  I  hardly  think  I  need 
blush  for  it  now." 

44  Have  you  forgotten  how  to  skate  ?  " 

44 1  don't  know.  I  have  not  attempted  it 
since  I  was  a  boy." 

44  Ah,  pray  try ! "  said  the  young  lady,  with 
the  air  of  one  who  was  not  accustomed  to  ask 
favors  in  vain.  "I  never  saw  skating  before, 
and  I  am  so  anxious  to  see  at  least  one  good 
skater !  " 

44  You  would  see  a  very  poor  one,  if  I  were  so 
foolish  as  to  expose  my  awkwardness,"  said  Mr. 
Warwick,  smiling. 

41  Who  can  skate,  then  ?  None  of  those  peo- 
ple out  yonder  can,  unless  skating  is  a  very  ugly 
thing." 

44  Annesley  ought  to,"  said  Mr.  Warwick, 
glancing  at  that  gentleman,  who  had  drawn 
near  and  was  talking  to  Katharine.  "  He  spent 
four  years  at  a  German  university,  and  they 
learn  skating  as  well  as  metaphysics  there." 

Miss  Vernon  turned  to  Morton,  as  if  intend- 
ing to  speak,  and  then  as  hastily  turned  back 
again. 

44  He  would  not  thank  us  for  disturbing  him 
now,"  she  said.  "  Look  at  those  people  out  yon- 
der, and  tell  me  who  you  think  gives  most  prom- 
ise of  learning  to  skate." 

Her  companion  looked  as  she  directed,  and  at 
once  singled  out  a  child  with  floating,  blond 
curls  and  a  plaid  scarf,  the  fringed  ends  of  which 
fluttered  in  the  wind  as  he  skimmed  along  the 
ice. 

44 1  cannot  tell  from  here  who  it  is,  but  there 
is  no  one  else  to  compare  with  him,"  answered 
Mr.  Warwick.  "  He  skates  as  if  he  had  been 
born  in  Russia." 

14  And  don't  you  know  who  he  is  ?  "  cried  his 
companion,  eagerly.  "Why,  I  thought  every- 
body knew  him  1  That  is  the  little  Gordon — 
don't  you  see  ?  He  looks  as  if  he  might  have 
been  born  in  the  purple." 

Mr.  Warwick  said,  "  Indeed  ! "  And  then 
they  both  watched  the  elfm  skater,  who  only  a 
few  minutes  before  had  made  his  appearance  on 
the  ice.  He  was,  indeed,  without  peer ;  the  very 
spirit  of  grace  seemed  to  animate  his  motions, 
and  his  skating  was  such  as  is  never  seen  out 
of  a  northern  latitude,  and  of  which  the  inhabit- 
ants of  southern  latitudes  can  form,  at  best,  but 
a  faint  conception.  The  lithe  young  figure  was 


so  slenderly  fashioned,  and  every  movement  of 
every  limb  was  so  harmonious  with  the  spirit 
of  the  whole,  that,  aided  by  the  floating  curls 
and  waving  scarf,  it  almost  looked  as  if  the 
wind  wafted  him  over  the  ice.  He  soon  be- 
came fully  aware  of  his  own  skill,  and  began  to 
indulge  in  vagaries  quite  impossible  to  the  novice 
in  this  slippery  amusement.  He  made  wide  cir 
cles,  then  swooped  suddenly  upon  some  knot  of 
inexperienced  amateurs,  scattering  them  to  the 
right  and  left  out  of  his  path,  and  generally 
leaving  two  or  three  prostrate  behind  him  ;  he 
seized  the  hand  of  some  unlucky  trembler,  and 
carried  him  forward  at  a  rate  which  soon  left  him 
breathless  in  a  waste  of  ice,  with  no  hope  of  re- 
turn, his  malicious  guide  having  takeri  flight  to 
another  quarter ;  he  snatched  some  half-dozen 
hats,  and  made  for  the  centre  of  the  pond,  scat- 
tering them  broadcast  on  his  way  ;  he  indulged 
in  solitary  waltzes  and  ballet-like  pirouettes  ;  he 
played  a  thousand  antics  for  his  own  amusement 
and  that  of  the  many  eyes  watching  him ;  and 
then  he  suddenly  darted  away  down  the  pond. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  he  is  not  going  out  of  sight ! " 
said  Miss  Vernon,  with  a  very  genuine  tone  of 
regret.  "  I  never  saw  any  thing  more  beautiful. 
Do,  somebody,  make  him  come  back.  Mr.  An 
nesley,  I  believe  he  is  under  your  charge — pleas* 
speak  to  him." 

"  Speak — to  whom  ?  "  askad  Mr.  Annesltj-, 
turning.  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  M'ss  Vemon,  but 
I  did  not  hear  —  has  Felix  b'.en  doing  any 
thing?" 

Miss  Vernon  replied  by  po'cting  to  the  slen- 
der figure  and  floating  scarf  v'uich  were  already 
vanishing  round  the  headl^ud.  "You  are  tho 
only  person  whom  he  has  n» .  been  entertaining," 
she  said. 

"Good  Heavens!"  en  <1  Annesley,  "  and  I 
promised  his  mother  that  ie  should  not  venture 
on  the  ice !  How  could  I  nave  been  so  careless ; 
— Felix,  come  back  !  Felix ! — don't  you  hear  ?  " 

Felix  paused  a  moment,  as  the  clear  voice 
came  ringing  over  the  ice ;  showed  that  he  heard, 
by  waving  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  gay  de- 
fiance, and  then  showed  that  he  did  not  mean  to 
heed,  by  coolly  continuing  his  onward  course. 
In  another  moment  he  had  vanished  Irom  sight 
around  the  jutting  point  of  land. 

Miss  Vernon  laughed  —  she  evidently  sym- 
pathized with  the  bravery  of  this  open  rebellion 
—  while  Mrs.  French,  who  was  standing  by, 
shrugged  her  shoulders  significantly. 

"  People  can't  manage  to  conduct  a  flirtation 
and  take  care  of  a  child  at  the  same  time,"  she 


THE   GORDON  PLAID. 


51 


said  to  her  husband,  in  a  tone  sufficiently  audible 
for  Morton  to  hear. 

But  Morton  took  no  notice  of  the  remark. 
He  only  turned  round  to  the  by-standers,  and 
asked  if  anybody  could  lend  him  a  pair  of 
skates. 

Unfortunately,  nobody  was  able  to  do  so. 
Skates  were  very  scarce  articles,  and  whoever 
was  so  fortunate  as  to  own  a  pair,  lent  them  to 
his  friends  by  turns — an  arrangement  which  re- 
sulted in  the  temporary  possessor  being  worried 
out  of  all  his  enjoyment  by  two  or  three  impa- 
tient candidates  who  wanted  to  know  "  if  he 
meant  to  keep  agoing  all  day,  or  if  he  didn't 
mean  to  give  anybody  else  a  chance  to  do  some 
skating  ?  "  Therefore,  all  shook  their  heads 
when  Morton  made  his  request,  and  several 
voices  replied  that  Tom  Jones  had  a  pair  of 
skates,  but  that  Frank  Smith  was  using  them. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do,  Mr.  Annesley  ?  " 
Katharine  asked. 

"  I  want  to  go  after  the  little  scamp,"  Annes- 
ley replied.  "  I  ought  to  have  paid  more  atten- 
tion to  him  ;  but  how  could  I  think  of  his  play- 
ing me  such  a  trick,  when  he  knew,  too,  that 
only  my  persuasion  induced  his  mother  to  let 
him  come  ?  " 

"  This  is  very  ungrateful  conduct,  then." 

"  Is  it  not  ? — Katy,  run  yonder  to  that  knoll, 
and  see  if  he  is  coming  back." 

Katy  obeyed,  bounding  up  on  the  rising 
ground  at  the  headland,  where  a  stately  group 
of  young  pines  stood  like  sentinels ;  and,  in  a 
few  minutes,  returned  with  the  intelligence  that 
he  was  coming  back. 

"  You  will  not  need  to  go,  after  all,"  said 
Miss  Vernon  to  Annesley. 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  he  answered. 
"  I  don't  much  think  he  will  come  to  shore  of 
his  own  accord. — Thank  you,  Price."  This  to 
a  young  man  who  handed  him  a  pair  of  skates 
over  two  or  three  intervening  shoulders.  Then, 
while  he  sat  down  to  buckle  them  on,  Felix  came 
bearing  back  into  sight — a  more  beautiful  pic- 
ture than  ever,  all  alone  in  his  childish  grace  on 
the  glittering  expanse  of  ice. 

"  Oh,  the  little  darling  !  "  cried  several  enthu- 
siastic young  ladies ;  while  the  boys  of  all  ages 
stared  in  open-mouthed,  admiring  wonder  of  his 
skill. 

"  Is  he  coming  to  shore  ?  "  asked  Morton,  who 
could  not  see,  partly  because  he  was  sitting  on  the 
ground,  and  partly  because  several  people  were 
standing  before  him.  Two  or  three  voices  an- 
swered the  quostiou — not  very  satisfactorily. 


"  I  think  so." 

"  No,  he  isn't." 

"  There  he  goes — he's  off  again." 

"  That's  splendid !    That  is  skating ! " 

"  He's  bound  up  the  pond  this  time." 

"  Yes,"  said  Katharine,  to  whom  Morton 
looked  inquiringly.  "  He  certainly  has  no  inten- 
tion of  coming  to  the  shore.  He  is  going  up 
the  pond  at  a  rapid  rate." 

"  It's  a  pity  somebody  can't  make  him  come 
back,"  said  a  man's  voice  near.  "  All  skating  is 
something  of  a  risk  to-day ;  but  the  ice  is  very 
unsafe  in  that  direction." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that,  Mr.  Mills  ? "  asked 
Morton,  starting  to  his  feet. 

"Very  sure,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Mills,  grave- 
ly. "  My  wagon  was  hauling  ice  from  there  this 
morning,  and  I  don't  think  it  would  have  borne 
the  weight  of  a  man  then." 

Morton  made  no  answer,  but  Katharine  saw 
that  he  changed  color,  and  immediately  swung 
himself  down  the  bank,  which  happened  to  be 
quite  high  just  there.  The  next  minute  he  was 
gliding  over  the  ice  with  a  swift,  steady  ease  of 
movement  which  proved  his  own  proficiency 
quite  equal  to  that  of  Felix.  A  chorus  of  ad- 
miration followed  him  ;  but  the  young  man  evi- 
dently heard  none  of  it.  He  was  bending  every 
nerve  in  pursuit  of  the  gay  little  will-o'-the-wisp 
who  fleeted  forward  all  the  faster  when  he  per- 
ceived that  a  chase  had  been  instituted.  Away 
went  the  two  figures  up  the  pond,  the  pursuer 
steadily  gaining  on  the  pursued,  and  both  near- 
ing  fast  the  dangerous  ice  of  which  Mr.  Mills  had 
spoken.  Once  Annesley  paused  and  uttered 
something  half-warning,  half-command ;  but  the 
young  insurgent  paid  no  attention  to  it,  and  the 
only  result  was  that  it  lost  Morton  several  yards 
of  distance.  When  he  started  again,  however, 
he  seemed  scarcely  to  touch  the  ice,  and  the  in- 
terest of  the  spectators  had  reached  a  very  ex- 
citing point  when  a  cry  of  mingled  dismay  and 
triumph  rose  from  a  knot  of  boys  on  the  water's 
edge. 

"  He's  got  him ! " 

"  No,  he  hasn't ! " 

"  Hurrah  !     He's  slipped  away  ! " 

"  Well  done,  little  one  !  " 

And  Katharine  looked  in  time  to  see  Felix 
dart  out  of  the  grasp  Morton  laid  on  him,  and, 
shooting  under  the  outstretched  arm,  skate  away 
faster  than  ever,  leaving  only  his  scarf  as  trophy 
in  the  disappointed  captor's  hands. 

"  Well  done,  indeed ! "  cried  Miss  Vernon, 
with  a  ringing  laugh  of  enjoyment.  "  I  am  so 


MORTON   HOUSE 


glad  he  got  away.  I  should  be  so  sorry  if  it 
coded.  It  is  better  than  horse-racing,  and  I 
adore  that !  Who  will  make  a  bet  ? — Adela,  will 
you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Mrs.  French,  severe- 
ly. "  I  think  it  is  disgusting.  Morton  ought  to 
have  more  dignity  than  to  make  such  an  exhibi- 
tion of  himself.  I  really  think — " 

But  Miss  Vernon  was  already  speaking  to 
Katharine. 

"  Miss  Tresham,  will  you  ?  As  many  pairs  of 
gloves  as  you  please  on  the  Gordon  plaid." 

"  Do  you  mean  Mr.  Annesley  ?  "  asked  Katha- 
rine, laughing.  "  He  has  the  Gordon  plaid  at 
present." 

"  No,  indeed ;  I  mean  on  the  rightful  owner 
of  the  Gordon  plaid.  Bless  his  brave  little 
heart !  Where  is  he  now  ?  " 

"  Yonder  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  who  was 
standing  by,  a  quiet  and  much-interested  specta- 
tor. "  But  Annesley  is  gaining  very  fast  upon 
him;  so  perhaps  you  had  better  not  register 
your  bet  just  at  present.  See !  he  almost  laid 
hold  of  him.  There,  now  he  has  doubled  again. 
After  all,  you  may — my  God  ! " 

A  sudden  wild  cry  from  Mrs.  French — a  mur- 
mur of  horror  from  the  crowd — and  out  on  the  ice, 
where  there  had  been  two  figures  a  moment  be- 
fore, only  one. 

This  was  a  terror-stricken  child,  while,  where 
the  ice  had  broken  through,  there  still  floated 
one  fringed  end  of  the  Gordon  plaid.  On  the 
nhore,  a  rush,  a  commotion,  a  sound  of  many 
voices,  and  a  lady  in  violent  hysterics. 

Katharine  never  knew  much  of  what  ensued. 
She  heard  Mr.  Warwick's  tones  take  the  lead, 
and  bring  some  quiet  out  of  the  uproar;  she 
saw  a  confused  mass  of  men  and  boys  dash 
across  the  ice  with  a  reckless  disregard  of  dan- 
ger, and  she  sat  down  sick  and  shuddering  to 
await  the  result. 

Miss  Vernon  sat  down  by  her.  Neither  said 
any  thing,  yet  there  is  no  doubt  that  each  was 
conscious  of  the  presence  of  the  other.  Mr. 
French,  meanwhile,  had  left  his  wife  to  get  out 
of  her  hysterics  as  best  she  could,  and  had  gone 
to  the  rescue  with  the  rest ;  so,  finding  nobody 
to  take  any  notice  of  her,  she  somewhat  sub- 
sided, and  stood  sobbing  and  asking  questions 
which  it  was  impossible  for  any  one  to  answer 
yet. 

To  those  watchers  on  the  shore  it  seemed 
hours,  but  it  was  in  reality  only  a  short  time  be- 
fore the  many  strong  arms  which  broke  up  the 
ice  and  buffeted  the  water  so  bravely,  gained 


their  reward — before  they  raised  to  the  surface 
and  bore  shoreward,  with  a  rush  of  triumph, 
that  which  seemed  so  awfully  still  and  white 
when  they  laid  it  down  at  Katharine  Trcsham's 
feet. 

They  said  it  was  not  Death,  but  she  could 
scarcely  believe  it  was  Life,  when  she  looked  at 
the  pale  face  with  the  wet  hair  clinging  round 
it,  and  at  those  rigid  hands  which  still  grasped 
the  silken  scarf. 

But,  even  while  she  looked,  there  came  a 
long,  gurgling  sigh  through  the  half-parted  lips 
— the  lids  slowly  lifted — the  dark  eyes  gazed  up 
at  her  pitying  countenance  as  if  in  a  bewildered 
dream — and  her  name  was  spoken  with  that  ten- 
der, yearning  accent  which  would  make  any  name 
of  earth  beautiful. 

"  Katharine ! " 

Then,  before  she  could  utter  one  word,  they 
closed  again,  and  Mr.  Warwick  said : 

"  He  has  fainted !  " 

A  little  while  later,  after  Mr.  Annesley  was 
sufficiently  recovered  to  thank  his  rescuers, 
to  answer  all  the  inquiries  of  his  friends,  to 
enter  his  carriage,  and  be  driven  home,  Mr. 
Warwick  came  up  to  Katharine,  and  asked 
her  if  she  felt  inclined  to  perform  a  deed  of 
charity. 

"  It  depends  a  good  deal  upon  the  amount  of 
exertion  required,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile. 
"  I  am  a  little  tired.  But  let  me  hear  what  it 
is." 

He  pointed  to  Felix,  who  stood  at  a  little  dis- 
tance the  centre  of  an  admiring  group,  and  quite 
as  nonchalant  as  ever. 

"  I  promised  Morton  to  take  that  young  gen- 
tleman home,  and  to  give  as  mild  a  rendering  of 
his  exploit  as  is  at  all  consistent  with  truth.  But 
I  begin  to  doubt  my  diplomatic  ability.  I  think 
you  could  do  him  more  service  than  I ;  and,  in 
short,  I  want  you  to  take  the  matter  off  my 
hands.  Will  you  ?  " 

Katharine  looked  slightly  aghast. 

"  Mr.  Warwick,  I  would  be  glad  to  oblige  you, 
but — but  I  am  a  mere  stranger — and  Morton 
House  1 " 

"  That  is  the  very  reason  why  I  ask  you," 
said  Mr.  Warwick,  coolly.  "  Considering  all 
things,  I  think  a  mere  stranger  might  be  more 
welcome  in  Morton  House  than  an  old  acquaint- 
ance like  myself.  Will  you  go  ?  " 

She  hesitated  a  minute  longer.  Then,  re- 
membering what  might  be  his  reason  for  wishing 
to  avoid  Mrs.  Gordon,  answered  quickly  : 


AT   MORTON   HOUSE. 


53 


"  Yes,  if  you  think  I  can  do  any  good,  I  will 
go." 

"  If  you  cannot,  I  am  sure  it  will  be  for  the 
first  time,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  Yonder 
comes  the  carriage  which  Annesley  promised  to 
send  back,  so  you  see  you  have  no  time  to 
change  your  mind.  Let  me  put  you  in,  and  see 
you  off.  Then  I  will  take  the  children  home." 

He  put  her  in,  called  Felix  and  presented 
him,  closed  the  door,  watched  them  drive  away, 
and  never  thought,  until  long  afterward,  that  he 
was  the  direct  means  of  first  bringing  Katharine 
Tresharn  under  the  roof  of  Morton  House. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

AT    MORTON    HOUSE. 

THE  whole  of  that  afternoon,  which  looked  so 
bright  to  the  gay  loiterers  beside  the  pond,  Mrs. 
Gordon  had  spent  in  the  silence  and  shadow  of 
the  Morton-House  library,  deep  in  dusty  and 
tedious  accounts  which  had  been  submitted  to 
her  inspection  by  Mr.  Shields,  the  agent  of  the 
Morton  estate.  It  waa  not  a  pleasant  occupa- 
tion, but  it  was  one  to  which  she  had  courageous- 
ly set  herself  immediately  on  her  arrival,  and  in 
which  she  had  not  flagged  even  when  the  terri- 
bly-involved condition  of  affairs  had  been  brought 
plainly  to  her  perception.  Debt,  difficulty,  mort- 
gage, ruinous  sacrifice  !  That  was  the  sum-total 
of  the  heritage  to  which  she  had  returned ;  and, 
what  the  old  agent  unhesitatingly  called  "  the 
most  tangled  business  in  the  country,"  was  what 
she  took  in  her  woman's  hands  to  attempt  to 
make  straight  again.  She  succeeded  better  than 
might  have  been  expected — succeeded  sufficiently 
to  rouse  Mr.  Shields's  honest  admiration,  and 
make  him  tell  Lawyer  Worruck  that  he  had  never 
seen  such  business  capacity  in  any  woman  be- 
fore. But  it  was  weary  work  at  all  times,  and 
never  more  weary  than  on  this  afternoon.  So 
weary  that,  when  she  came  to  the  end  of  a  long 
column  of  figures,  she  dropped  her  pen  with  a 
tired  sigh,  and,  leaning  her  head  against  the 
back  of  her  chair,  sat  motionless  for  some 
time. 

On  this  repose,  however,  Babette  broke  in 
suddenly  and  unceremoniously,  just  as  the  last 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  flashed  a  gleam  of  vivid 
light  across  the  pale,  tired  face. 

"  Madame,  pardonnez-moi,"  she  began,  hur- 
riedly, as  her  mistress's  eyes  opened  wide  in  some- 
what haughty  astonishment.  "  But  madame  al- 


ways said  that  if  any  thing  happened  to  M'sieur 
Felix,  she  must  be  disturbed,  and  I  dared  not — " 

"  Felix ! "  cried  the  mother,  with  a  sudden 
start  of  alarm.  "  Felix !  Is  any  thing  the  mat- 
ter with  him  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  madame,  it  was  not  my  fault ;  but 
that  stupid — " 

"  Babette  !     Is  any  thing  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Non,  madame,  non,"  cried  the  maid,  startled 
by  the  tone  of  her  mistress's  voice.  "  M'sieur 
Felix  is  all  safe — but  that  stupid  Harrison  has  let 
in  a  lady." 

Mrs.  Gordon  gave  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

"  You  frightened  me  very  much,"  she  said, 
rebukingly.  "  You  should  not  talk  so  much  at 
random.  What  has  Felix  to  do  with  a  lady  ? 
He  is  at  the  pond  with  Mr.  Annesley." 

"But,  madame,  the  lady  has  brought  him 
home." 

"  The  lady  !     You  must  be  mistaken." 

"  Indeed,  no,  madame.  I  saw  them ;  and 
that  stupid — " 

"  Then  it  is  Mrs.  Annesley  ?  " 

Babette  shook  her  head.  "  C'est  une  demoi- 
selle," she  said  decidedly.  "  I  saw  her  myself, 
madame ;  and  M'sieur  Felix — " 

"  Hold  your  tongue ! "  cried  a  shrill,  indig- 
nant voice  at  the  door.  And  the  next  moment, 
"  M'sieur  Felix "  himself  had  rushed  into  the 
room,  and  thrown  his  arms  round  his  mother. 

"  Mamma,  don't  listen  to  her  !  I'll  tell  you 
all  about  it — but  promise  first  you  won't  be 
angry." 

"  That  depends  on  whether  there  is  good 
cause  for  being  angry,"  said  his  mother,  push- 
ing back  the  bright  curls  from  the  glowing  face, 
and  looking  anxiously  into  it.  "  But  I  can 
promise  not  to  be  very  much  displeased  if  you 
will  tell  me  the  exact  truth." 

"  That's  what  I  mean  to  do,  mamma.  But 
kiss  me  first,  and — go  away  ! "  he  added,  with  a 
sudden  stamp  at  Babette. 

The  Frenchwoman  looked  unutterable  things 
at  him,  tossed  her  head,  and  held  her  ground 
firmly,  until  Mrs.  Gordon  herself  bade  her  go. 

"  But  the  lady,  madame  ?  " 

"  I  will  see  her  in  a  minute — you  need  not 
wait." 

Babette  gave  another  glance  at  Felix,  and  then 
retired,  with  offended  dignity  rustling  in  every 
garment.  Her  only  solace  was  to  go  and  rate 
Harrison,  and  this  she  immediately  proceeded  to 
do. 

Katharine,  meanwhile,  left  alone  in  the  large 
empty  drawing-room,  began  to  revolve  the  awk- 


54 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


wardness  of  her  position.  She  was  sorry  now 
that  she  had  acceded  V>  Mr.  Warwick's  request. 
It  seemed  so  much  like  forcing  an  entrance  into 
Morton  House.  As  for  mediation  or  explanation 
— Felix's  impetuosity  had  spared  her  all  ques- 
tion of  that.  Was  nobody  ever  coming  ?  Would 
it  be  very  wrong  to  go  away  without  having 
seen  the  lady  of  the  house  ?  Perhaps,  after  all, 
that  might  be  best.  She  would  wait  ten  min- 
utes longer,  and,  if  by  that  time  Mrs.  Gordon 
had  not  made  her  appearance,  why — she  would 
go.  She  had  hardly  arrived  at  this  determina- 
tion, when  the  door  opened,  and  a  pale,  stately 
woman  stood  on  the  threshold. 

Katharine  rose,  but  before  she  could  utter 
one  of  the  words  of  apology  trembling  on  her 
tongue,  Mrs.  Gordon  crossed  the  floor,  and  ex- 
tended her  hand  with  a  warm  and  cordial  ges- 
ture. 

"  Miss  Tresham,  I  owe  you  many  thanks.  It 
was  kind  of  you  to  take  charge  of  my  wilful  boy. 
Pray  forgive  me  that  I  have  kept  you  waiting ; 
but  he  has  been  giving  me  an  account  of  his  ad- 
venture." 

This,  or  something  like  it,  was  what  she  said  ; 
but  no  words  can  embody  the  gracious  and  ex- 
quisite charm  of  manner  which  at  once  set  Kath- 
arine at  ease — at  once  made  her  feel  that,  instead 
of  being  an  intruder,  she  was  a  welcome  guest. 
A  few  words  told  why  the  duty  had  devolved 
upon  herself — a  few  more  gave  the  leading  facts 
of  the  matter ;  after  which,  she  rose  to  take  her 
departure.  But  this  Mrs.  Gordon  would  not  per- 
mit. 

"  You  are  cold,  and  you  must  be  tired,"  she 
said.  "  It  is  a  point  of  honor  with  Morton  House 
that  no  guest  has  ever  left  its  door  in  either  of 
those  conditions.  This  room  is  my  aversion,  it 
is  BO  cheerless.  Let  me  take  you  to  my  sitting- 
room." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Katharine,  over- 
come with  wonder  ;  "  but  the  carriage  is  waiting 
for  me,  and — " 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  have  it  dis- 
missed, and  take  the  responsibility  of  sending 
you  home." 

"  I  am  afraid  Mrs.  Marks  will  be  uneasy." 

"  I  am  sure  she  will  be  able  to  spare  you," 
said  the  lady,  with  a  slight  smile.  "Come,  Miss 
Tresham,  I  am  not  accustomed  to  pressing  hos- 
pitality ;  but  in  this  instance  I  really  cannot  con- 
sent to  let  you  go.  Shall  I  put  my  request  on 
another  ground?  Shall  I  tell  you  that  I  am 
lonely  this  evening,  and  that  a  strange  face  is  a 
great  relief  to  me?  I  have  not  felt  this  desire 


for  companionship  before  in  many  a  long  day 
Will  you  have  the  heart  to  disappoint  it  now  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Katharine,  with  her  frank,  bright 
smile.  "  If  my  society  can  gratify  your  desire,  J 
shall  be  very  glad  to  stay.  But — " 

"  But  I  regard  the  matter  as  settled,"  said 
Mrs.  Gordon.  Then,  after  ringing  the  bell,  and 
sending  an  order  of  dismissal  to  the  waiting  car- 
riage, she  led  the  way  across  a  large,  cold  hall, 
into  one  of  the  most  thoroughly-charming  rooms, 
Katharine  thought,  she  had  ever  seen. 

A  first  glance  only  gave  the  impression  of  rich 
color  and  luxurious  comfort.  It  was  some  time 
before  the  eye  recognized  the  different  elements 
that  went  to  make  up  such  an  attractive  whole 
— the  heavy  curtains,  the  velvet  carpet,  the  deep, 
inviting  chairs  and  couches,  the  many  appoint- 
ments where  taste  of  the  most  rare  and  judicious 
kind  had  presided.  When  Katharine  entered,  it 
was  empty,  but  a  faint  fragrance  of  flowers  came 
over  her  as  the  door  opened,  and  a  soft  moonlight 
seemed  to  fill  the  room — the  glow  of  two  large 
lamps  being  toned  by  tinted  shades.  Dusk  had 
fallen  by  this  time ;  and  the  lamp-light  and  ruddy 
firelight  made  a  pleasant  contrast  to  the  cold, 
frosty  night  gathering  outside  the  open  hall- 
door,  and  melting  into  indistinctness  the  out- 
lines of  the  rolling  hills. 

"  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  room ! "  cried  Kath- 
arine, so  involuntarily  that  Mrs.  Gordon  smiled. 

"I  am  glad  you  like  it,"  she  said.  "It  in 
the  only  room  I  have  refurnished  ;  but  I  cannot 
endure  the  stiff  old-fashioned  furniture  which 
reigns  paramount  in  the  rest  of  the  house.  Ex- 
cepting my  cousin,  Mr.  Annesley,  you  are  the  only 
person  who  has  been  admitted  here." 

"  It  is  beautiful !  "  Katharine  repeated,  aa 
she  sat  down  by  the  glowing  fire,  sunning  her- 
self like  a  tropical  flower  in  its  heat.  "  I  have 
never  seen  any  thing  more  luxurious — and  I  love 
luxury." 

Mrs.  Gordon  smiled  again,  perhaps  at  this 
candid  confession,  perhaps  at  the  undisguised 
enjoyment  which  prompted  it.  Then  she  drew 
forward  a  large  chair,  and  seating  herself  leaned 
back  in  its  soft  depths.  The  firelight  played 
quiveringly  over  her  face,  and  Katharine  had 
time  to  mark  every  furrow  which  maried  its 
beauty  before  Mrs.  Gordon  spoke  again.  At  last 
she  turned  to  Iqpk  at  the  young  girl,  and  said, 
rfitber  abruptly :  ' 

"  Miss  Tresham,  my  desire  to  keep  you  was 
not  entirely  without  reason.  I  have  heard  Mor- 
ton Annesley  speak  of  you  very  often,  and  I  was 
sure  of  one  thing — either  that  I  must  like  you, 


AT   MORTON  HOUSE. 


55 


or  that  he  exaggerated  as  even  a  lover  has  no 
right  to  exaggerate." 

Katharine  started.  This  was  plain  speaking, 
indeed.  She  started,  and,  if  she  also  blushed,  it 
might  have  been  surprise  as  much  as  any  thing 
else  that  caused  the  emotion. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  who  noticed 
both  the  start  and  the  blush.  "  Perhaps  I  have 
not  paid  sufficient  regard  to  the  proprieties  of 
expression ;  but  when  one  grows  a  little  old, 
they  seem  so  useless.  Why  should  we  hesitate 
to  call  a  thing  by  its  right  name  ?  " 

"  Why,  indeed,"  answered  Katharine,  quick- 
ly, "if  it  be  a  right  name  ?  " 

"  We  won't  argue  that  point,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon,  with  a  slight  laugh.  "  1  don't  think  a 
lover's  tale  is  worth  telling,  excepting  by  him- 
self. And  here  comes  tea." 

The  door  opened  as  she  spoke,  and  Harri- 
son brought  in  a  tray.  No  other  servant  ap- 
peared ;  but  in  a  few  minutes — without  even  so 
much  noise  as  the  rattling  of  a  plate — a  small 
round  table  stood  between  the  two  ladies,  bear- 
ing a  glittering  equipage. 

"  Are  you  still  English  enough  to  prefer  tea, 
Miss  Tresham,  or  will  you  let  Harrison  give  you 
a  cup  of  coffee  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Gordon,  as  she 
poured  out  a  cup  of  the  first,  which  was  strong 
enough  and  black  enough  to  have  satisfied  even 
De  Quincey.  "  For  my  part,  I  always  take  this. 
Will  you  join  me  ?  " 

"  Not  since  you  have  given  me  my  choice," 
said  Katharine,  with  a  smile.  "  I  have  never 
yet  learned  to  endure  tea — though  I  have  tried 
heroically,  in  compliment  to  other  people's 
taste." 

"  Not  people  here,  surely  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  Everybody  here  drinks  coffee.  I 
meant  the  people  in  England." 

"  And  yet  you  are  an  Englishwoman  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  am  a  West-Indian — and  very  proud 
of  it.  I  love  my  dear  island,  with  its  brilliant 
skies  and  tropical  palms,  as  much  as  I  hate  the 
mists  and  fogs  of  England." 

"  You  have  been  in  England,  then  ?  " 

Katharine  shrugged  her  shoulders  ruefully. 

"  To  my  cost,  yes." 

"  In  what  part  ?  I  ask  because  I  am  very 
familiar  with  it,  and  perhaps  you  saw  the  coun- 
try to  disadvantage." 

"  I  was  in  the  north,  near  the  Scottish  border. 
I  saw  the  Scottish  shore  from  my  window  every 
time  the  fog  lifted,  and  did  not  enjoy  it  nearly  as 
much  as  I  should  have  done  if  I  could  have 
stopped  shivering  even  for  one  day." 


"  But  was  there  no  summer  while  you  wera 
there  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  time  they  called  summer — a 
time  when  the  trees  had  leaves,  and  the  sun 
shone  with  tolerable  brightness.  But  our  winter- 
days  in  Porto  Rico  are  much  more  balmy." 

"  Porto  Rico !     But  I  thought — that  is — " 

"  You  thought  I  was  a  British  West-Indian. 
Well,  so  I  am.  I  was  born  in  Jamaica  ;  but  I 
scarcely  remember  it  at  all.  When  I  was  very 
young,  my  aunt  moved  to  Porto  Rico,  and  took 
me  with  her.  We  lived  there  entirely,  and  I 
never  was  in  England  until  I  went  to  an  old 
friend  of  hers,  who  obtained  a  situation  as  gov- 
erness at  Donthorne  Place  for  me.  It  was  a 
very — " 

She  stopped — uncontrollable  surprise  forcing 
her  to  do  so.  Mrs.  Gordon  had  suddenly  turned 
so  pale  that  even  the  dim  light  failed  to  conceal 
it,  and  her  hand  shook  until  she  was  obliged  to 
put  down  untasted  a  cup  of  tea  which  she  had 
been  in  the  act  of  raising  to  her  lips.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence;  then  she  looked  up, 
white  as  a  sheet,  but  forcing  herself  into  a  sort 
of  rigid  calm. 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Tresham ;  and  pray  don't 
look  so  much  alarmed.  It  is  only  an  old  pain 
that  came  back  to  me  just  then.  My  nerves  are 
shattered,  and  I  show  it — that  is  all. — Harrison, 
you  will  find  my  case  on  the  side-table  there. 
Give  me  two  spoonfuls  of  the  bottle  on  the  right 
as  you  open  it." 

Harrison  obeyed.  Mrs.  Gordon  drank  eager- 
ly the  dark  liquid  which  he  brought  her  in  a 
slender  wineglass ;  and  a  faint,  subtile  odor 
rushed  over  Katharine,  which  told  her  at  once 
what  the  draught  had  been.  After  that  she 
needed  one  explanation  the  less  for  the  lines 
on  her  hostess's  face. 

It  was  the  latter  who,  after  a  short  silence, 
spoke  first — quietly,  but  with  a  certain  sup- 
pressed anxiety  which  Katharine's  ear  was  quick 
to  detect. 

"  You  surprised  me  very  much  by  the  men- 
tion of  Donthorne  Place,  Miss  Tresham.  I  was 
once  in  the  neighborhood,  and  I  remember  it 
quite  well.  How  long  were  you  there  ?  " 

"  A  year,"  answered  Katharine,  concisely, 
having  her  own  reasons  for  reticence  on  the 
subject ;  "  a  year — one  of  the  most  disagreeable 
of  my  life,  and  one  that  I  would  not  live  over 
again  to  win  a  crown.  I  cannot  bear  to  talk  of 
it,  and,  of  course,  it  does  not  inteiest  you." 

"  On  the  contrary,  if  you  will  pardon  me,  it 
interests  me  very  much.  Do  you" — she  leaned 


56 


MORTUJS    HOUSE. 


forward  with  an  eagerness  which  startled  Katha- 
rine— "  do  you  ever  hear  from  them — the  Don- 
thornes  ?  " 

"  Never.  To  judge  by  their  unconsciousness 
of  my  existence  when  I  lived  in  tneir  house,  I 
should  say  that  they  would  not  even  remember 
my  name  now." 

*•'  From  no  friends — no  one  that  you  left  in 
Ihe  neighborhood  ?  " 

Katharine  drew  back.  She  was  not  only  sur- 
prised ;  but  she  looked — even  her  preoccupied 
questioner  noticed  that — as  if  awakened  to  some 
sudden  fear. 

"  No,"  she  said,  slowly ;  "  I  have  no  friends 
— there  or  elsewhere.  I  had  not  even  an  ac- 
quaintance in  the  neighborhood.  No  one  ever 
writes  to  me.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"I  might  truly  answer,  because  I  am  very 
uncivil,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon.  "Solitude  fos- 
ters many  bad  habits,  and  I  must  beg  you  to 
excuse  me  on  that  score.  I  will  not  offend  in 
the  same  way  again.  Indeed,  there  is  nothing  I 
so  much  detest  as  curiosity. — Harrison,  you  may 
take  the  tray ;  we  have  finished." 

Harrison  and  the  tray  made  an  exit  as  noise- 
less as  their  entrance,  and,  after  the  door  had 
closed,  Mrs.  Gordon  was  again  the  first  to  speak 
— very  pleasantly  and  graciously. 

"  Miss  Tresham,  I  see  that  coincidences  have 
left  us  no  option  but  to  think  that  we  are  meant 
to  be  friends ;  and  one  must  never  gainsay  Fate, 
you  know.  Do  you  think  you  have  Christian 
charity  enough  to  come  to  see  me  sometimes, 
without  exacting  the  ceremony  of  visits  in  re- 
turn ?  I  am  such  a  recluse  that  I  cannot  think 
of  leaving  my  cell  to  encounter  daylight." 

Katharine  looked  up  with  an  astonishment 
which  showed  itself  in  every  line  of  he/  face. 
She  could  scarcely  believe  that  these  cordial 
words  of  invitation  were  addressed  to  herself 
by  the  same  lips  that  had  declined  the  visits  of 
all  the  old  hereditary  friends  who  had  a  right  to 
enter  Morton  House.  The  cordiality  was  in  Mrs. 
Gordon's  eyes  as  well  as  in  Mrs.  Gordon's  tones, 
however.  So,  after  a  short  pause,  she  answered, 
with  the  frank  grace  that  all  her  life  had  won 
for  her  so  much  liking : 

"  Indeed,  you  are  very  kind,  and  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  come.  I  have  few  acquaintances 
— none  who  consider  my  society  of  any  import- 
ance ;  so  it  would  be  strange  if  I  were  not 
flattered  by  your  invitation.  It  will  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  me  to  see  you  again  when  I  can. 
But  my  time  is  not  my  own,  you  know." 

"I  cannot  help  forgetting  that,"  said  Mrs. 


Gordon,  smiling — "you  seem  so  little  tike  a  gov- 
erness. What  a  disagreeable  life  you  must  find 
it,  especially  in  your  present  situation  !  " 

"No;  very  much  the  reverse,"  said  Katha- 
rine, quickly.  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marks  are  both 
kind  to  me ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  how  gen- 
erously they  took  me  into  their  service  when  I 
was  an  entire  stranger  to  them." 

'It  was  like  Bessie  Warwick,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon,  quietly.  "  I  remember  her  in  the  old 
time  as  very  warm-hearted  and  very  impulsive, 
but  rather  silly.  She  was  pretty,  but  so  decided- 
ly underbred  that  nobody  wondered  when  she 
married  much  beneath  her." 

"  She  seems  to  have  found  her  right  place  ir 
the  world,  however." 

"  Most  women  do,  or  else  have  sufficient  sense 
to  seem  as  if  they  do.  It  is  seldom  you  find  one 
weak  enough,  or  strong  enough,  to  beat  against 
the  bars.  Then,  what  are  we  most  inclined  to 
do — pity  or  scorn  her  ?  Either,  God  knows,  is 
hard  enough  to  bear."  She  paused  a  moment, 
then  changed  the  subject  abruptly.  "  Do  you 
see  much  of  John  Warwick  ?  Is  he  often  at  his 
sister's  house  ?  " 

"  He  lives  there,"  Katharine  answered :  "  and 
yet  I  cannot  say  that  I  see  much  of  him.  He  is 
absorbed  in  his  profession,  and  seems  to  take 
very  little  pleasure  in  society." 

"  But  you  like  him — do  you  not  ?  " 

"I  like  him  extremely.  He  is  very  quiet; 
but  no  one  could  live  under  the  same  roof  with 
him  and  fail  to  see  that  he  is  one  of  the  most 
thorough  gentlemen,  as  well  as  one  of  the  kind- 
est of  men.  I  have  heard  that  he  can  be  very 
hard  sometimes ;  but  I  can  scarcely  believe  it, 
when  I  remember  how  gentle  he  is  to  his  sister 
and  the  children." 

Mrs.  Gordon  looked  at  her  with  a  smila 
"  You  are  his  friend,  I  perceive,"  she  said. 

"I  ought  to  be,"  the  girl  answered,  quickly, 
with  the  remembrance  of  what  he  had  said  to  her 
that  afternoon  stirring  warmly  at  her  heart.  "  In- 
gratitude has  never  been  one  of  my  many  faults." 

"  I  hoped  he  would  have  married  long  before 
this,"  said  the  other,  with  a  wistful  light  in  her 
eyes,  that  Katharine  was  not  slow  to  interpret. 
"  I  do  not  know  any  one  whom  I  should  better 
like  to  see  happy — any  one  whom  I  would  sooner 
exert  myself  to,  help  along  the  road  to  happi- 
ness." 

"  Mr.  Warwick  is  not  unhappy,  I  am  sure," 
said  Katharine,  almost  resentfully.  "  He  is  not 
one  of  the  men  who  have  no  life  if  they  have  no 
fireside.  I  think  a  wife  would  decidedly  bort 


AT   MORTON  HOUSE. 


57 


him.  He  has  his  clients  and  his  law-books — 
that  is  all  he  wants.  No  one  need  pity  him  for 
imaginary  loneliness." 

Mrs.  Gordon  unclosed  her  lips,  as  if  to  reply ; 
but,  before  she  could  do  so,  the  door  opened, 
and  Harrison  startled  them  by  the  announce- 
ment that  Mr.  Warwick  had  come  for  Miss  Tresh- 
am. 

Katharine  started  up  at  once,  full  of  self- 
reproach. 

"  How  very  inconsiderate  of  me  to  have 
stayed  !  "  she  cried,  eagerly.  "  I  might  have 
known  they  would  be  uneasy;  and  it  is  such 
a  long  walk  to  have  given  Mr.  Warwick !  How 
very,  very  inconsiderate  of  me  !  " 

She  repeated  the  last  expression  several 
times,  for  her  vexation  was  not  least  in  the 
thought  that  she  had  forced  upon  Mr.  Warwick 
the  very  thing  he  wished  to  avoid,  and  brought 
him  to  the  very  house  he  least  desired  to  enter. 

"  Don't  look  so  distressed  and  penitent,"  said 
Mrs.  Gordon.  "  It  was  my  fault,  not  yours ;  and 
I  am  sure  he  will  not  mind  the  walk,  especially 
as  he  need  not  repeat  it. — Harrison,  order  the 
carriage,  and  show  Mr.  Warwick  in  here." 

"  No  !  no ! "  cried  Katharine,  hastily.  "  He 
has  had  so  much  trouble  about  me,  pray  let  me 
go  to  him  at  once,  and — and  not  keep  him  wait- 
ing. I  shall  not  mind  the  walk  at  all." 

She  was  drawing  her  wrappings  around  her 
as  she  spoke,  and  evidently  meant  to  go  at  once, 
if  Mrs.  Gordon  had  not  interfered  very  decidedly. 

"  I  will  not  hear  of  such  a  thing,"  she  said. 
"  You  must  wait  for  the  carriage,  and  I  must 
send  for  Mr.  Warwick. — Harrison,  show  him  in 
at  once." 

Evidently,  Mrs.  Gordon  had  been  accustomed 
to  the  habit  of  command.  Her  quiet  tones  had 
so  much  authority  in  them  that  Katharine  found 
herself  yielding  without  a  word.  She  sank  into 
her  seat,  and  the  next  minute  Mr.  Warwick  en- 
tered the  room. 

Whatever  he  felt,  he  certainly  showed  nothing 
beyond  gentlemanly  self-possession,  as  he  came 
forward,  meeting  Mrs.  Gordon's  cordially-extend- 
ed hand  with  his  own,  and  answering  her  words 
of  welcome  so  easily  that  Katharine  felt  relieved. 
What  she  expected,  she  could  not  have  told ;  but 
certainly  something  unlike  this.  Not  any  falter- 
ing, or  trembling,  or  turning  pale — she  knew  the 
grave,  reserved  lawyer  too  well  to  fear  that — but 
at  least  some  token  that  his  pulses  were  beating 
as  fast  as  they  surely  must  beat  in  presence  of 
the  woman  who,  for  twenty-five  years  (if  his 
sister  spoke  truth),  had  stood  between  him  and 


all  thought  of  other  women — some  token  differ- 
ent from  the  quiet  presence  of  every  day,  from 
the  cool  glance  that  saw  so  much,  and  the  terse 
speech  that  said  so  little — yet  they  were  all 
there,  and  as  much  unchanged  as  if  Pauline 
Morton's  eyes  were  not  looking  into  his  face 
from  the  grave  of  the  past. 

Presently  he  crossed  over  to  Katharine  and 
stopped  at  once  the  words  of  penitence  with 
which  she  was  prepared  to  greet  him. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  you  must  not  think  any 
thing  of  the  kind.  I  came  because  I  wanted  to 
— and  a  little  because  Bessie  has  been  uneasy. 
You  know  how  highly  developed  her  nervous 
system  is.  Well,  she  has  been  arranging  the 
programme  of  a  very  tragic  entertainment — Mr. 
Annesley's  horses  running  away,  and  leaving  you 
senseless  and  bleeding  in  some  wayside  ditch." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,*  said  Katharine,  too  much 
disturbed  to  laugh.  "It  is  very  kind  of  Mrs. 
Marks  to  take  the  trouble  to  be  uneasy  about 
me — I  am  very  sorry.  I  ought  to  have  thought, 
Mr.  Warwick ;  and  then  you  need  not  have  had 
all  this  trouble." 

"  I  told  you  a  minute  ago  that  it  was  no  trou- 
ble," he  said,  a  little  shortly.  And,  as  Mrs.  Gor« 
don  advanced,  he  turned  and  began  speaking 
about  Felix. 

"  He  is  quite  the  hero  of  the  hour,"  he  said. 
"  In  fact,  he  has  taken  Tallahoma  so  entirely  by 
storm,  that  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  example,  you 
will  not  let  him  enter  the  town  to-morrow — he 
would  certainly  receive  a  popular  ovation." 

"  He  is  not  likely  to  leave  tha  grounds  of  the 
House  for  some  time  to  come,"  answered  his 
mother,  gravely.  "  I  have  had  a  lesson  by  which 
I  shall  profit.  Felix's  management  has  been  a 
point  at  issue  between  Morton  and  myself,  and 
the  occurrence  of  this  afternoon  has  showed  me 
that  I  am  right  and  he  is  wrong." 

"  May  I  not  intercede  on  the  side  of  mercy  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Warwick,  half  jestingly,  half  in  earnest. 
"  You  will  not  think  me  presumptuous,  I  am  sure, 
when  I  tell  you  that  nothing  so  much  shames, 
or  so  soon  cures  untrustworthiness — even  the 
slight,  childish  form  of  it  which  Felix  showed 
this  afternoon — as  the  sense  of  being  trusted." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  with  a  deep  flush  on 
her  pale  cheeks,  and  a  sudden  light  in  her  eyes, 
that  startled  both  Katharine  and  himself. 

"  You  speak  of  what  you  know,"  she  said,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  You  speak  of  those  in  whom  the 
sense  of  honor,  and  the  power  of  being  shamed, 
is  bom.  But  you  don't  speak  of,  you  don't 
know,  the  blood  that  child  has  in  his  veins.  I 


58 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


know — and,  believe  me,  I  can  best  deal  with 
it" 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  hastily.  "  I  did  not 
mean — " 

She  interrupted  him.  "  Any  thing  but  kind- 
ness, I  know — only  you  don't  understand.  Now 
tell  me  if  you  have  heard  from  Morton.  I  sent 
to  inquire,  and  the  answer  was  very  satisfactory 
— but  I  fear  he  may  have  sent  it  merely  to  quiet 
my  uneasiness." 

"  Hardly.  No  doubt  he  is  well  by  this  time, 
and  probably  will  make  his  appearance  to  answer 
for  himself  to-morrow. — Miss  Tresham,  I  am  at 
your  service  whenever  you  feel  inclined  for  the 
walk  before  us." 

"  The  carriage — "  began  Mrs.  Gordon. 

But,  at  that  moment,  Harrison  once  more 
opened  the  door,  and  announced  that  the  car- 
riage was  waiting.  • 

"  You  will  come  to  see  me,  will  you  not  ? " 
asked  the  lady,  as  Katharine  bade  her  good- 
night. "  I  don't  like  to  see  you  go,  without  an 
assurance  that  you  will  return." 

"  I  will  certainly  come,"  said  Katharine,  with 
a  smile  even  more  bright  than  usual. 

After  a  few  words  they  took  leave,  and  Miss 
Tresham  found  herself  rolling  rapidly  along  the 
road  to  Tallahoma,  and  assuring  Mr.  Warwick 
that  she  felt  much  less  tired  than  excited  by  her 
unusual  adventures. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE     TUG     OF     WAR. 

THE  morning  after  his  escape  from  drown- 
ing, Morton  Annesley  woke  with  that  uncom- 
fortable weight  on  his  mind — that  sense  of  some- 
thing disagreeable,  either  past  or  impending — 
with  which  every  one  is  familiar  who  has  ever 
sought  sleep  rather  as  a  refuge  from  tormenting 
thought,  than  as  that  "sweet  restorer"  which 
Nature  intended  it  should  be. 

For  the  space  of  several  minutes  he  could  not 
think  what  had  occurred ;  then  suddenly  a  throng 
of  recollections  rushed  over  him  ;  he  recalled 
every  thing  that  had  happened.  He  remembered 
the  adventure  at  the  pond,  and  the  scene  that 
followed  his  rescue;  he  remembered  the  looks 
and  tones  of  the  people  who  had  addressed  him ; 
and,  above  all,  he  remembered  the  expression  of 
Katharine  Tresham's  eyes,  when,  for  one  brief 
second,  he  glanced  up  into  them !  With  a  sharp, 
impatient  exclamation,  he  sprang  up  and  began 


to  dress.  Some  reminiscences  prick  worse  than 
needles,  and  to  him  there  could  scarcely  have 
been  a  more  disagreeable  reminiscence  than  this. 
Not  even  Katharine's  eyes  could  take  the  sting 
out  of  it !  There  was  such  a  mock  heroism  about 
the  whole  affair,  that  he  fairly  ground  his  teeth 
over  it.  Some  people  would  have  enjoyed  the 
eclat  thus  conferred  upon  them,  while  others, 
recognizing  the  ludicrous  aspect  of  the  adven- 
ture, would  have  laughed  it  off  with  that  genial 
good-nature  which  it  is  the  best  policy  in  the 
world  to  affect,  if  it  be  not  really  possessed.  But 
Morton,  poor  fellow,  did  not  possess,  and  could 
not  affect  it.  Which  aspect  of  the  matter — the 
heroic  or  the  ridiculous — was  most  distasteful  to 
him,  it  would  be  hard  to  say,  or  against  which  he 
chafed  most  impatiently.  It  provoked  him  to 
think  how  Lagrange  had  gossipped  and  would 
yet  gossip  over  the  occurrence ;  and  it  is  to  be 
feared  that,  in  his  irritation,  he  was  not  so  lenient 
in  his  feelings  toward  Felix,  as  Felix's  quixotic 
protector  ought  to  have  been.  But  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  disappointment  mingled  with  this 
irritation.  He  had  taken  so  much  interest  in  the 
boy,  he  had  striven  so  hard  to  make  him  compre- 
hend the  moral  obligation  of  a  trust,  and  the 
chivalric  standard  of  honor,  that  he  was  chilled 
and  disappointed  by  his  failure ;  and  felt,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  not  a  little  out  of  patience 
with  the  ungrateful  wilfulness  which  had  placed 
him  in  his  present  position.  What  this  position 
was  with  regard  to  Miss  Tresham,  he  had  only  a 
faint  idea.  He  knew  that  he  had  said  something 
— that  he  had  committed  himself  in  some  way — 
out  there  beside  the  pond,  before  all  those  peo- 
ple (in  his  own  mind,  he  was  ungrateful  enough 
to  call  them  those  confounded  people) ;  but  what 
it  was  he  did  not  know,  and  certainly  had  no  in- 
tention of  inquiring.  Only  it  made  one  thing 
certain — he  could  not  hesitate  any  longer.  The 
tug  of  war — did  any  misgiving  of  his  heart  tell 
him  what  a  tug  it  would  be  ? — must  come  with 
his  mother,  and,  one  way  or  another,  his  fate 
must  be  decided  as  only  Katharine  could  decide 
it. 

With  his  mind  full  of  these  thoughts  he  went 
down-stairs,  across  the  hall,  and  out  of  the  open 
front-door.  The  morning  was  very  bright,  for  the 
atmosphere  had  capriciously  changed ;  the  ther. 
mometer  had  risen  from  its  unwonted  depression 
of  the  few  preceding  days,  and  the  air  that  greet- 
ed him  was  soft,  as  if  the  dead  Indian  summer 
had  returned,  or  the  spring  was  about  to  burst. 
The  sunshine  was  pouring  in  a  dazzling  flood 
over  the  lawn  and  piazzas ;  the  gravelled  sweep 


THE   TUG  OF  WAR. 


59 


before  the  house  sparkled  as  if  its  stones  had  all 
been  precious  gems ;  the  evergreens,  dotted  about 
m  every  direction,  seemed  to  have  put  on  a  bright- 
er emerald  hue ;  and  a  bird  that  was  perched  on 
a  magnolia  near  by,  was  pouring  forth  its  whole 
heart  in  glad  rejoicing  that  the  cold  was  over  and 
gone ;  that  the  blue  skies,  and  the  soft  air,  and 
the  golden  sunshine,  had  returned.  We  are  all 
more  or  less  susceptible  to  such  influences  as 
these;  and  Annesley,  as  it  chanced,  was  keenly 
alive  to  them.  At  the  first  sight  of  the  bright 
outer  world,  and  the  first  note  of  that  trilling 
lay,  his  depression  suddenly  vanished,  and  his 
spirits  rose  like  mercury.  Almost  unconsciously 
he  caught  up  the  notes  of  the  little  feathered 
songster,  and,  as  he  went  down  the  steps  and 
turned  toward  the  stables,  he  was  whistling  to 
himself  almost  gayly. 

He  found  Mr.  French  talking  to  the  head 
groom,  while  one  or  two  subordinate  stablemen 
were  rubbing  down  a  large,  black  horse,  that 
stood  patiently  undergoing  the  operation. 

"  Good-morning,  Frank,"  said  Annesley,  com- 
ing up.  "  What  brings  you  out  so  early  ?  Noth- 
ing the  matter  with  the  Captain,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  there  is  something  the 
matter  with  his  shoulder,"  said  Mr.  French,  look- 
ing round.  "  He  fell  lame  while  I  was  riding 
home,  yesterday  afternoon.  By-the-way,  how  do 
you  feel  after  your  ducking  ?  " 

"  I  am  well,  of  course,"  said  Morton,  a  little 
ungraciously,  resuming  his  usual  manner  as  he 
went  on :  "I  am  concerned  about  the  Captain. — 
Lead  him  out  there,  Jim,  and  let  me  see  how  he 
walks." 

The  Captain  was  led  out,  and  the  Captain 
walked  very  badly.  Some  accident  had  plainly 
befallen  his  right  shoulder ;  and  the  two  gentle- 
men were  soon  in  deep  discussion  and  examina- 
tion, aided  by  Isaac  the  groom,  and  John  the 
coachman.  Various  remedies  were  suggested, 
and  one  or  two  were  tried.  It  was  some  time 
before  the  poor  Captain  was  remanded  to  his 
stall,  and  the  two  gentlemen  bethought  them- 
selves of  breakfast.  "  You  can  take  him  to  the 
stable,  Isaac,"  said  Mr.  French,  at  last.  "  I'll 
be  out  again  after  breakfast  and  look  at  him. — 
Morton,  are  you  coming  ?  " 

Morton  said  "Yes,"  rather  carelessly;  and 
they  turned  into  a  broad  walk  which  led  to  the 
house.  With  the  Captain  dismissed  from  his 
mind,  Mr.  French  remembered  something  he 
wished — or,  rather,  had  promised — to  say  to  his 
brother-in-law.  "  A  man's  opinion  always  has 
BO  much  weight  with  a  man,"  his  wife  had  re- 


marked to  him.  "  You  must  be  sure  and  tell 
Morton  what  you  think  of  this  nonsense."  Mr. 
French  had  promised  that  he  would  ;  but  now  he 
began  to  wish  that  he  had  not  been  so  rash.  Sup« 
pose  Morton  were  to  be  offended  ?  "  Hang  it !" 
thought  the  other,  candidly,  "  I  should  be  of- 
fended myself  if  anybody  were  to  meddle  in  my 
private  affairs.  I  wish  I  had  not  promised  Adela. 
It  is  none  of  my  business  if  he  chooses  to  make  a 
fool  of  himself."  Then  he  cleared  his  throat  and 
looked  at  the  abstracted  face  beside  him. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  don't  feel  any  the  worse 
for  your  exploit  yesterday  ?  "  he  asked,  by  way 
of  introduction  to  wh;it  he  meant  to  say.  "I 
should  think  you  would,  Morton." 

"  Why  the  deuce  should  I  ?  "  asked  Morton, 
pettishly.  "  I'm  neither  a  child  nor  a  woman. 
Confound  the  exploit,  Frank  !  can't  you  let  it 
alone  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  French,  a  little 
surprised.  "I  didn't  know  you  were  sensitive 
about  it.  I'm  sure  it  made  you  rather  a  hero — 
at  least  in  the  eyes  of  the  ladies.  Some  of  them 
were  exceedingly  interested,  I  cau  tell  you." 
Then,  after  a  pause — "  Morton,  I  suppose  you 
know  what  you're  about,  but  don't  you  think 
you  may  be  going  a  little  too  far  with — with  one 
of  them  ?  " 

"  With  one  of  them  !  "  repeated  Morton,  giv- 
ing a  start.  "  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked, 
more  quietly  than  his  companion  had  expected. 
"  I  don't  understand." 

"  I  mean  that  Miss  Tresham  who  lives  in 
Tallahoma,  and  is  a  teacher,  or  something  of  the 
sort,"  answered  Mr.  French,  who,  as  he  had  once 
begun,  was  determined  to  blunder  through.  "  Of 
course,  you  know  your  own  affairs  best,  and  I 
hope  you  won't  think  me  interfering ;  but  I 
thought  I  would  give  you  a  hint.  Young  women's 
heads  are  so  easily  turned,  and  old  women's 
tongues  are  so  confoundedly  long,  that  one  is 
obliged  to  be  careful." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Annesley, 
in  a  tone  which  contradicted  the  words,  for  he 
was  more  angry  than  he  would  have  liked  to  con- 
fess ;  "  but  I  believe  I  can  manage  my  own  af- 
fairs— and  I  prefer  to  do  so." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  French,  begin- 
ning to  be  a  little  offended  in  turn.  "  I  didn't 
mean  to  be  impertinent.  I'm' an  older  man  than 
you  are,  and  I  thought  I  would  give  you  a  little 
friendly  advice.  It's  a  devilish  disagreeable 
thing  to  be  talked  about  as  people  wiU  talk 
in  these  country  places ;  and  of  course  I  never 
supposed  you  were  in  earnest  about  the  girl. 


60 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


I'm  confident,  I  need  not  tell  jou,  Morton,  that 
such  a  thing  would  nearly  kill  your  mother." 

"  You  must  allow  me  to  be  the  best  judge  of 
that,"  said  Morton,  stiffly.  And  there  the  con- 
versation ended. 

Mr.  French  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
thought  to  himself  that  he  had  known  how  it 
would  be,  but  that  at  least  he  could  tell  Adela 
he  had  done  hi3  best ;  while  Morton  walked  on, 
with  his  breast  fairly  in  a  flame.  So  he  had 
made  such  a  fool  of  himself  as  that !  He  had 
betrayed  every  thing  so  plainly  that  his  brother- 
in-law  felt  obliged  to  come  and  force  his  advice 
upon  him  !  Indeed,  it  was  time  that  he  spoke, 
if  only  for  Katharine's  sake,  since  he  had  com- 
mitted himself,  and  involved  her  to  such  an  ex- 
tent as  this.  Poor  Morton !  In  his  single- 
minded  sincerity,  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
Mr.  French  had  been  prompted  to  the  unusual 
character  which  he  had  assumed.  He  took  it 
simply  as  the  consequence  of  his  own  unguarded 
conduct ;  and  it  confirmed  rather  than  shook  his 
resolution.  It  would  have  gone  hard  with  Adela 
if  she  could  have  known  the  result  of  her  hus- 
band's interference. 

*  Breakfast  passed  off  quietly,  but  rather  silent- 
ly. Adela  did  not  make  her  appearance,  and, 
although  the  three  others  talked  at  intervals, 
there  was  a  sense  of  constraint  hanging  over 
them,  and  they  did  not  remain  very  long  at  table. 
Mr.  French  was  the  first  person  to  leave  the 
room,  taking  out  his  cigar-case  as  he  did  so. 
Then  Morton  rose  and  walked  round  to  his 
mother. 

"  Will  you  come  to  the  library  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and,  in  a  moment  divin- 
ing his  purpose,  her  heart  sank.  But  she  had 
sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  smile  into  the 
grave,  earnest  eyes  regarding  her. 

"  Certainly  I  will  come,"  she  answered,  "  but 
I  must  first  see  Adela,  and  give  orders  about  din- 
ner— that  is,  if  you  are  not  in  a  hurry." 

"I  am  not  at  all  in  a  hurry,"  he  replied. 
"  If  you  will  come  when  you  are  at  leisure,  that 
will  do.  You  will  find  me  in  the  library,"  he 
added,  as  he  took  up  a  pnper  and  left  the  room. 

He  went  to  the  library,  but  he  soon  found 
that  he  could  not  read.  It  is  one  thing  to  hold 
a  paper  open  before  the  eyes,  and  quite  another 
to  pay  intelligent  heed  to  its  contents.  Morton 
did  the  first  diligently ;  but,  with  all  his  efforts, 
he  could  not  achieve  the  second.  He  dreaded 
the  interview  with  his  mother  so  much  that  he 
eagerly  desired  it  to  be  over;  and  he  caught 


himself  listening  to  every  footstep  in  the  hall 
outside  the  door,  hoping  it  might  be  hers.  At 
last  he  threw  down  the  paper,  and,  rising,  walked 
restlessly  across  the  floor. 

There  was  not  a  pleasanter  room  at  Anncs- 
dale  than  this  library,  nor  one  that  he  liked  bet- 
ter; but  to-day  it  might  have  been  an  irksome 
cage,  to  judge  by  his  impatient  movements  to 
and  fro.  From  the  fireplace  to  the  windows,  and 
from  the  windows  to  the  fireplace,  he  paced,  until 
finally  he  paused  before  the  latter,  and,  leaning 
one  arm  on  the  mantel,  gazed  steadily  at  an  en- 
graving which  hung  above  it — a  "  St.  Cecilia  " 
he  had  brought  from  Dresden.  Something  in 
the  outline  of  the  uplifted  face  reminded  him 
of  Katharine.  It  was  not  so  much  a  resem- 
blance as  the  suggestion  of  a  resemblance.  But 
it  had  struck  him  often  before,  and  now  it 
brought  her  face  vividly  to  his  mind.  By  some 
strange  perversity  of  association,  it  also  brought 
to  his  recollection  that  day  when  she  sang  the 
"  Adelaide  "  for  him,  when  he  had  chanced  upon 
the  open  letter,  and  when  her  strange  conduct 
had  so  chilled  and  repulsed  him. 

He  was  still  thinking  of  these  things,  and  his 
face  looked  unusually  grave  and  troubled,  when 
the  door  opened  and  his  mother  entered.  She 
crossed  the  room,  and,  as  he  did  not  turn,  she 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  You  wished  to  speak  to  me,  Morton  ?  "  she 
said.  "  Here  I  am." 

"  My  dear  mother,  thank  you,"  he  answered, 
turning  quickly.  "  I  did  not  hear  you  come  in — 
how  quiet  you  are !  " 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  be  tired  of  wait- 
ing for  me,"  she  said,  sitting  down  in  a  deep 
arm-chair.  "  Adela  is  quite  unwell,  and  I  stayed 
with  her  some  time.  I  thought  that,  if  you 
wanted  to  see  me  about  any  thing  of  importance, 
you  would  have  told  me  so." 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you  about  my  own  affairs," 
said  Morton,  plunging  headlong  into  the  subject 
he  now  felt  tempted  to  avoid.  "  I  want  to  ask 
your  advice  about  a  very  important  matter — 
to  me  at  least,"  he  went  on,  faintly  smiling 
"  Mother,  I  have  lately  thought  of  marrying." 

The  room  suddenly  went  round  and  grew 
black  before  Mrs.  Annesley's  eyes.  She  extend- 
ed her  hand  almost  unconsciously,  and  clutched 
the  corner  of  &  ts^ble  near  by  to  steady  herself. 
Her  worst  fears  were  realized  ;  but  she  had  suf- 
ficient self-control  to  look  up  quietly,  and  say — 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,"  he  answered,  knowing  that  the  worst 
could  not  be  too  quickly  told,  "  I  fear  that  I  am 


THE   TUG   OF   WAR. 


Gl 


«;oing  to  disappoint  you.  I  fear  that  the  woman 
I  love,  the  woman  I  wish  to  marry,  is  not  the 
woman  whom  you  would  have  chosen  for  me. 
But  in  this  matter,  no  human  being,  not  even 
the  nearest  and  dearest,  can  judge  for  us,"  he 
said,  gently  taking  the  hand  which  she  had  laid 
on  the  table.  "  We  can  only  judge  for  ourselves, 
and  abide  by  our  choice  through  good  or  through 
ill.  Mother,  will  you  not  give  your  sanction  to 
my  choice  ?  " 

She  suffered  her  hand  to  remain  in  his ;  but 
\ier  eyes  looked  cold,  and  her  voice  sounded  hard 
v\\en  she  asked — 

'•'  What  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Her  name,"  he  answered,  "  is  Katharine 
Tresham.  My  dear  mother,"  he  continued, 
eagerly,  "  don't  judge  her  by  her  surroundings, 
don't  think  of  the  position  in  which  Fortune 
has  placed  ber.  Only  judge,  only  think  of  her 
as  you  will  set  and  love  her  for  herself,  as  you 
will—" 

He  was  stopped  by  a  gesture  from  his  moth- 
er, as  she  drew  baok  her  hand. 

"  Go !  "  she  said,  bitterly.  "  I  have  heard 
enough.  If  you  had  the  heart  to  come  and  stab 
me  like  this,  you  will  not  heed  any  thing  I  can 
say  to  you.  Go !  Only  remember  that,  if  you 
do  degrade  yourself  in  this  way,  you  will  cut 
yourself  off  from  me  forever.  I  will  never  re- 
ceive that  woman  as  my  daughter ;  I  will  never, 
as  long  as  I  live,  suffer  her  to  cross  the  threshold 
of  this  house  !  " 

"  Mother ! " 

It  was  a  cry  of  astonished,  grieved  reproach, 
which  at  any  other  time  would  have  gone  to  her 
heart ;  but  she  had  now  so  entirely  lost  command 
of  herself,  and  of  the  emotion  which  seemed  suf- 
focating her,  that  it  rather  provoked  than  allayed 
her  anger.  She  had  feared  and  in  a  measure  an- 
ticipated this  for  a  long  time ;  but  it  did  not  make 
the  disappointment  any  less  poignant  when  it 
came — it  did  not  teach  her  any  better  how  to 
bear  it. 

"  Mother,"  said  Morton,  gravely,  "  you  can- 
not be  yourself — you  cannot  be  in  earnest  when 
you  utter  such  words  as  these." 

"  Go ! "  she  repeated,  once  more,  in  a  voice 
choked  with  tears. 

And,  as  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done, 
he  walked  sadly  across  the  floor,  and  stood  silent- 
ly at  one  of  the  windows,  waiting  for  what  would 
come  next — waiting  to  see  whether  his  mother 
would  recall  him,  or  whether  she  would  leave  the 
room  with  only  those  last  bitter  words. 

A  long  time  passed — an  hour  it  seemed  to 
5 


the  young  man,  and  it  was  in  reality  many  min- 
utes— before  any  sound  broke  the  stillness  of 
the  room.  Then  Mrs.  Annesley  said  : 

"  Morton ! " 

He  came  to  her  side. 

"  I  am  here,"  he  answered,  gravely  but  gent- 

iy- 

She  lifted  a  face  that  was  white  even  to  tho 
lips,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  My  son,"  she  said,  "  forgive  me.  I  did  not 
mean  to  pain  you  ;  but  the  shock  was  so  sudden, 
and  very  hard  to  bear." 

"  My  mother,  my  dearest  mother ! "  he  said. 

It  was  all  that  he  did  say,  but  he  bent  down 
and  kissed  the  hand  she  gave  him,  and  peace — 
or  at  least  a  semblance  of  it — was  once  more 
established.  After  a  while  it  was  Mrs.  Annesley 
who  spoke  first. 

"  Morton,"  she  said,  "  have  you  considered 
tnis  well  1 " 

"  I  have  considered  it  well,"  he  answered. 

"  Your  mind  is  made  up  ?  " 

"  My  mind  is  entirely  made  up." 

"  You  are  determined  to  inflict  this  distress 
upon  me,  and  to  ruin  your  own  life  by  such  a 
misalliance  ? " 

"  I  am  determined  to  ask  Miss  Tresham  to 
be  my  wife,"  said  the  young  man,  looking  pale 
but  unshaken.  "  I  would  have  asked  her  long 
ago  if  it  had  not  been  that  I  hesitated  on  your 
account.  But  now  it  is  not  possible  for  me  to 
hesitate  longer." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  have  committed 
yourself?  "  she  asked,  hastily. 

"  In  absolute  words — no.  Dear  mother,  don't 
pain  me  by  combating  my  resolution,"  he  said, 
with  his  eyes  full  of  appeal.  "  Only  tell  me  that, 
if  she  consents  to  marry  me,  you  will  welcome 
and  try  to  love  her." 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,  Morton,"  said  Mrs.  An- 
nesley— "  what  do  you  know  of  this  woman 
whom  you  ask  me  to  receive  as  your  wife? 
When  a  man  marries  he  should  know  all  the 
previous  history  and  all  the  connections  of  the 
woman  he  chooses.  Tell  me,  my  son,  what  do 
you  know  of  hers  ?  " 

She  touched  his  cause  in  its  weakest  point, 
and  he  knew  it.  The  thoughts  he  had  been 
revolving  when  she  entered  the  room  —  the 
thoughts  that  had  sealed  his  lips  ever  since  the 
day  he  saw  Katharine  last — rushed  upon  him 
suddenly  with  overwhelming  force,  and  for  sev- 
eral minutes  he  could  not  reply.  Then  the  truth 
came  in  one  word — 

"  Nothing." 


R2 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"  Nothing ! "  his  mother  echoed,  in  a  tone 
of  grieved  astonishment  "  Nothing,  Morton  ? 
And  yet  you  ask  me  to  welcome  her  as  a  daugh- 
ter ?  My  son,  my  dear  son,  what  can  you  be 
thinking  of  ?  Where  is  your  sense  of  what  is 
due  to  yourself  and  to  your  name  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  her,"  he  said,  "  but  I 
can  trust  her.  She  is  too  pure  and  noble  ever  to 
have  done  any  thing  that  she  need  blush  for." 

"  But,  good  Heavens  !  her  relations,  her 
friends — what  may  they  not  be  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  she  has  any.  I  have  never 
heard  her  speak  of  them." 

"  And  you  think  that  a  good  sign  ?  Oh,  Mor- 
ton, Morton  ! " 

"  It  is  not  a  bad  sign,  mother,"  said  Morton, 
beginning  to  look  a  little  less  patient.  "  Many 
a  girl  is  friendless,  many  a  girl  is  obliged  to  earn 
her  bread  as  Miss  Tresham  is  doing.  It  would 
be  cruel  to  doubt  her  because  Fate  has  dealt 
hardly  with  her.  It  is  true  that  she  has  never 
mentioned  her  past  history  or  her  family  cir- 
cumstances to  me ;  but  I  have  never  been  in  a 
position  to  receive  such  a  confidence." 

"  And  you  will  ask  her  to  marry  you  without 
knowing  more  than  this  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  a  cur,  not  a  gentleman,  if  I  in- 
quired into  her  affairs  before  asking  her." 

"  Oh,  my  son,  what  madness ! " 

"  Mother  dear,  be  patient  with  me,"  he  said, 
gently.  "  Don't  you  see — can't  you  tell  how  hard 
I  am  trying  to  do  right  ?  If  I  had  only  myself 
to  consider,"  he  went  on,  walking  again  from 
the  fireplace-to  the  window,  and  from  the  window 
to  the  fireplace,  "  I  would  sacrifice  my  wishes  to 
yours.  But — but  I  am  afraid  it  is  too  late  as  far 
as  she  is  concerned." 

"  You  put  her  before  me,  then  ?  " 

"  I  put  my  honor  before  every  thing." 

"  Your  honor  should  lead  you  just  the  other 
way,"  she  said,  lapsing  from  self-restraint  into 
anger  again.  "  A  gentleman's  first  duty  is  to  his 
name.  What  will  you  be  doing  with  yours  when 
you  marry  thus  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  be  degrading  it,"  answered  he, 
firmly.  "  Mother,  you  do  not  know  Katharine 
Tresham.  If  you  did  know  her — if  you  would 
know  her — you  could  never  speak  ot  her  in  this 
manner." 

"  She  has  taken  you  from  me,  Morton.  She 
has  steeled  your  heart  against  all  my  entreaties ; 
Bhe  has  made  you  forget  what  is  due  to  yourself 
—how  can  I  do  other  than  hate  her  ?  How  can 
I  stand  by  silently  and  see  you  marry  an  adven- 
turess ?  " 


"  Mother ! " 

The  exclamation  was  so  stern  that  for  a  mo- 
ment Mrs.  Annesley  shrank.  But,  before  she 
could  speak,  Morton  gave  a  great  gulp,  and  hur- 
ried on  : 

"  Forgive  me,  but  this  had  better  end.  There 
is  no  good  in  prolonging  a  useless  discussion, 
and  I  see  now  that  this  is  useless.  I  only  pro- 
voke you,  and  am  pained  myself.  So  I  will  go. 
Don't  forget  that  I  am  very  sorry  to^  have 
grieved  you,  and,  if  possible,  still  more  sorry 
to  act  against  your  wishes  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life." 

She  let  him  go — as  far  as  the  door ;  but,  when 
his  hand  was  on  the  knob,  her  voice  called  him 
back.  He  returned  at  once,  and,  rising,  she  met 
liim  half-way. 

"  My  son,  forgive  me,"  she  said.  "  You  have 
never  in  your  life  before  grieved  or  disappointed 
me  ;  you  have  often  given  up  your  will  to  mine  ; 
you  have  never  once  failed  in  respect  or  duty  to 
me.  It  is  only  just,  therefore,  that  my  turn  for 
sacrifice  should  come.  I  never  thought  it  would 
be  so  hard ;  I  never  thought  you  would  desire  to 
throw  away  your  happiness  in  this  way.  But,  as 
you  will  do  it — why,  take  my  consent,  and  God 
bless  you ! " 

The  young  man  caught  her  in  his  arms  with 
something  that  was  almost  a  sob. 

"  Mother,  my  dear,  kind  mother  !  "  he  said. 
"  You  don't  know  how  much  I  longed  to  hear 
those  words.  Thank  God,  they  have  come  at 
last ! " 

He  thought  the  tug  of  war  was  over  ;  but,  as 
he  clasped  his  mother  in  his  arms,  it  would  have 
been  strange  if  he  could  have  known — if  he 
could  even  faintly  have  imagined — how  com 
pletely  she  had  out-witted  him,  and  how  the 
worst  struggle  was  yet  to  come  ! 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

HISS   TRESHAM    ASKS   ADVICE. 

Two  weeks  went  by  very  quietly,  and  brought 
Miss  Tresham's  happy  scholars  to  the  beginning 
of  their  Christmas-holidays. 

"  Do  your  lessons  well  to-day,  children,"  she 
said,  as  she  entered  the  school-room  on  a  certain 
Friday  morning,  and  found  them  gathering  about 
the  blazing  fire.  "  This  is  the  last  of  school 
until  after  New-Year." 

They  all  looked  up  delighted. 

"To-da?!     And   Christmas  not   till  Thura 


MISS  TRESHAM   ASKS  ADVICE. 


63 


Jay?     On,  Miss   Tresham,  that's    so    good   of 
you ! " 

"  Why,  we'll  have  two  long  weeks !  Thank 
you,  ma'am,  so  much." 

'  "  Don't  thank  me,"  said  the  governess,  with 
a  smile.  "  I  should  have  kept  you  hard  at  work 
till  Christmas-Eve.  Your  mother  told  me  to  dis- 
miss school  to-day,  and  that  it  will  not  be  re- 
sumed till  the  Monday  after  New- Year.  So,  you 
see,  you  have  two  good  weeks." 

"  Oh,  haven't  we  !  " 

"  Well,  show  your  gratitude  by  giving  me  no 
trouble  to-day.  I  will  hear  the  geography  first." 

For  the  next  fifteen  minutes  they  were  all 
busy  locating  capitals,  settling  boundaries,  and 
describing  countries.  The  children  were  so  ani- 
mated by  the  holiday  prospect  before  them  that 
they  did  remarkably  well ;  and  the  class  was 
about  to  be  dismissed,  when  the  door  opened 
without  any  preparatory  knock,  and,  instead  of  a 
servant,  Mrs.  Marks  entered,  with  every  sign  of 
surprise  and  discomposure  in  her  manner. 

"  Good  Gracious,  Miss  Katharine,  what's  to  be 
done  !  To  think  of  such  a  thing  just  now  of  all 
times,  and  me  deep  in  the  mince-meat ! " 

Katharine  looked  up  in  astonishment.  It  was 
not  often  that  Mrs.  Marks  used  such  a  tone  of 
supreme  vexation,  or  appeared  so  red  and  wor- 
ried— not  often  that  she  gave  a  glance  so  full 
of  chagrin  at  her  befloured  dress  and  large  do- 
mestic apron. 

"  What  on  earth  is  to  be  done  ?  "  she  re- 
peated, as  Katharine's  eyes  met  her  own.  "  I 
never  was  so  taken  by  surprise  in  all  my  life ! 
To  think  of  her — " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked 
the  young  governess.  "  I  don't  understand." 

She  understood  the  next  moment,  when  Mrs. 
Marks  pushed  two  cards  across  the  table  toward 
her — two  cards  exactly  alike  in  appearance,  and 
both  bearing  the  same  name  : 


Katharine  -was  too  well  bred  to  show  exactly 
how  much  surprise  she  really  felt.  So,  after  one 
irrepressible  exclamation,  she  hurried  off  at  once 
into  sympathy. 

"Indeed,  dear   Mrs.  Marks,  this  is  very  in- 


convenient! I  hardly  wonder  you  are  vexed. 
Wouldn't  it  be  possible  to  excuse  yourself  ?  " 

"  Excuse  myself — to  Mrs.  Annesley  !  "  Evi- 
dently that  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

"  Well,"  said  Katharine,  with  quite  a  prac- 
tical inquiry,  "  why  don't  you  go  and  dress  ? 
It  will  not  take  you  many  minutes  to  smooth 
your  hair  and  put  on  your  black  silk.  Shall  I 
help  you  ?  " 

"  You  !  Why,  I  came  to  tell  you  that  you 
must  go  down  at  once." 

Was  Mrs.  Marks  distracted  ?  Katharine  cer- 
tainly thought  so,  as  she  drew  back  and  gazed 
at  her  in  sheer  amazement. 

"I  go  down  to  see  Mrs.  Annesley!  Mrs. 
Marks,  what  can  you  be  thinking  of?  " 

"  How  are  you  going  to  help  yourself?  "  de- 
manded Mrs.  Marks,  impatiently.  "  She  came 
to  see  you  just  as  much  as  she  did  to  see  me — 
indeed  a  great  deal  more,  I  expect,  if  the  truth 
was  known.  Tom  said  that  she  gave  him  one  of 
those  cards  for  Miss  Tresham." 

"  He  must  have  been  mistaken." 

"  How  could  he  be  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Katharine ;  "  but 
he  must  have  been." 

"  My  dear,"  cried  Mrs.  Marks,  almost  angrily, 
"  what  is  the  use  of  this  ?  If  you  don't  believe 
Tom,  I  can  tell  you  that  I  listened  through  a 
crack  of  the  pantry  door,  and  that  I  heard  Mrs. 
Annesley  ask  for  you.  Of  course  she  came  to 
see  you  ;  and  of  course  you  must  go  down  as 
soon  as  you  have  dressed.  Come — quick  ! " 

She  laid  her  hand  on  Katharine's  arm  and 
strove  to  lead  her  forward ;  but  the  girl  drew 
back  with  a  decided  motion. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  If  I  go  down  at  all— if 
you  are  sure  she  asked  for  me — I  will  go  down 
exactly  as  I  am." 

Mrs.  Marks  looked  aghast. 

"  In  that  old  dress !  Oh,  my  dear,  consider 
how  important  it  is  that  you  should  make  a  good 
impression.  Mrs.  Annesley  is  so  elegant — you 
have  no  idea  !  What  would  Mr. — " 

A  glance  from  Katharine  stopped  her  short. 

"  I  am  breaking  my  usual  rule  in  leaving  the 
school-room  to  go  down  at  all,"  she  said ;  and 
since  I  do  it  principally  to  give  you  time  to 
change  your  dress,  I  certainly  shall  not  make 
any  alteration  in  my  own. — Children,  look  over 
your  sums;  I  will  be  back  soon  to  attend  to 
them." 

Before  Mrs.  Marks  could  utter  another  word 
of  expostulation,  she  left  the  room  and  was  de- 
scending the  staircase. 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


She  would  scarcely  have  been  a  woman,  how- 
ever, if  she  had  not  stopped  a  moment  outside 
the  parlor  door,  partly  to  be  sure  of  her  self- 
possession,  and  partly  to  glance  over  her  dress 
—the  same  dark-blue  merino  which  she  had 
worn  the  last  day  Morton  was  there. 

When  she  opened  the  door,  the  room  looked 
as  rigid  and  cold  as  ever — perhaps  a  little  more 
so,  considering  that  the  day  was  gloomy — but 
on  the  stiff,  black  sofa  sat  a  figure,  the  grace 
and  elegance  of  which  would  have  brightened 
even  a  duller  scene,  and  which  rising,  with  a 
soft  rustle  of  silk  and  velvet,  met  Katharine  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor. 

If  Mrs.  Annesley  had  expected  some  timid, 
blushing  girl  whom  she  could  awe  or  patronize 
into  reverence,  she  must  have  been  greatly  sur- 
prised at  sight  of  the  calm,  stately  young  lady 
— unmistakably  a  young  lady — who  met  her  with 
such  quiet  ease. 

"  Miss  Tresham,  I  presume  ?  "  she  said,  in- 
quiringly— for  despite  all  that  Morton  had  told 
her,  she  could  not  believe  that  this  was  Mrs. 
Marks's  governess. 

And  Katharine  answered  with  Katharine's 
own  straightforward  dignity : 

"  Yes,  I  am  Miss  Tresham.  Pray  sit  down, 
madam.  Mrs.  Marks  will  be  here  in  a  minute. 
She  desired  me  to  apologize  for  her  delay,  and 
say  that  she  was  very  much  occupied  when  you 
came." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  disturbed  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Annesley,  hardly  conscious  of  what  she  did 
say,  and  only  noting  with  a  sharp  pang  every 
separate  charm  of  this  girl's  appearance  and 
manner.  Then  they  sat  down,  and  when  the 
lady  spoke  again  it  was  with  a  perceptible  effort. 

"  I  have  heard  a  great  deal  about  you — Miss 
Tresham — "  she  did  not  say  from  whom — "and 
it  has  been  a  regret  to  me  that  I  have  not  been 
able  to  pay  this  visit  sooner ;  but  I  am  a  very 
great  invalid — so  much  of  an  invalid,  that  my 
friends  are  kind  enough  to  excuse  a  great  deal 
of  social  neglect  from  me." 

Katharine  thought  there  were  very  few  traces 
of  illness  apparent  in  the  smooth,  handsome  face 
before  her ;  but  she  had  enough  of  the  habitude 
of  society  to  accept  the  apology,  and  answer  it 
with  a  few  words  of  conventional  sympathy — 
wondering  the  while,  why  it  had  been  at  all 
necessary  to  offer  it. 

"  Thanks — you  are  very  kind,"  said  Mrs.  An- 
nesley, in  acknowledgment  of  her  condolence. 
"  Yes,  sickness  is  a  dreadful  thing — more  be- 
cause it  's  ant  to  make  one  neglect  one's  duties, 


than  for  any  other  reason,  I  think.  Some  peo- 
ple don't  allow  it  to  interfere,  I  know ;  but  I 
have  never  been  strong-minded.  If  I  feel  badly 
I  am  sure  to  lie  on  my  sofa,  even  with  the  cor 
sciousness  of  something  that  ought  to  be  done.'1 

"  We  are  all  of  us  prone  to  do  that,  I  think," 
said  Katharine ;  "  and  I,  for  one,  really  cannot 
admire  the  people  who  treat  their  bodies  as  cruel 
drivers  treat  their  horses,  and  goad  them  into 
exertion  whether  they  feel  like  it  or  not." 

Mrs.  Annesley  smiled  faintly.  "  You  are  very 
good  to  say  so,  when  I  see  plainly  that  you  have 
no  personal  knowledge — no  personal  experience, 
that  is — of  the  malady  to  which  I  allude.  Do 
you  sing  much,  Miss  Tresham  ?  I  see  the  piano 
open,  and  surely  your  pupils  have  not  yet  ad- 
vanced as  far  as  Mozart." 

The  conversation  rather  flagged  during  the 
"  minute,"  which  unaccountably  lengthened  into 
ten  or  fifteen,  before  Mrs.  Marks  entered ;  Katha- 
rine began  to  grow  a  little  impatient,  and  to  won- 
der what  could  possibly  be  the  motive  of  this 
visit.  Had  Mrs.  Annesley  merely  come  to  gratify 
her  curiosity,  or  what  other  meaning  was  hidden 
under  her  cold  civility,  her  languid  common- 
places, her  keen  though  not  ill-bred  scrutiny  ? 
The  young  governess  felt  that  she  was  under- 
going a  sort  of  examination ;  that  she  was  on 
trial,  as  it  were,  before  this  fine  lady ;  and,  feeling 
it,  almost  unconsciously  she  resented  it.  She 
who  was  usually  so  frank  and  cordial  in  her 
manner,  was  now  reserved,  almost  haughty ; 
while  Mrs.  Annesley  made  matters  worse  by  a 
shade  of  patronage — half  unconscious,  half,  it  is 
to  be  feared,  intended — which  did  not  please  the 
girl  who  had  once  told  Morton  that  she  was  "un- 
fortunately very  proud."  It  was  a  relief  to  both 
of  them  when  the  door  at  last  opened,  and  Mrs. 
Marks  came  bustling  in,  looking  as  if  she  had 
been  hastily  squeezed  into  her  black  silk,  and 
had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  process. 

Katharine  watched  the  greeting  between  the 
two  ladies — Mrs.  Marks's  hearty  cordiality,  a  little 
tempered  by  awkwardness  on  the  one  side,  and 
Mrs.  Annesley's  condescending  suavity  on  the 
other — with  quiet  amusement.  Then  she  kept 
her  seat  for  a  few  minutes  longer,  thinking  that, 
after  they  were  fairly  launched  into  conversation, 
she  would  go  back  to  her  waiting  pupils ;  but,  as 
it  chanced,  this  jntention  was  frustrated.  Just 
as  she  had  decided  on  leaving  the  room,  Mrs.  An- 
nesley turned  to  her. 

"  I  waited  until  Mrs.  Marks  was  here,  Miss 
Tresham,  before  I  made  a  request  which  is 
partly  the  reason  of  my  visit  this  morim  g.  A 


MISS   TRESHAM  ASKS  ADVICE. 


65 


few  young  people  are  coming  next  week  to  spend 
Christmas  at  Annesrlale,  and  if  you  will  be  kind 
enough  to  waive  ceremony,  I  should  be  very  glad 
for  you  to  make  one  of  the  party.  Will  you 
come  ?  " 

With  all  her  self-possession — and  it  was  even 
more  than  people  gave  her  credit  for — Katharine 
started.  Was  it  possible  that  it  was  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley  who  gave  this  gracious  invitation  ?  —  who 
asked  her  to  meet  a  party  of  young  people 
(which  was  a  modest  way  of  saying  the  elite  of 
Lagrange)  at  Annesdale,  which  was  the  head- 
quarters of  gay  hospitality?  For  a  second  she 
could  not  answer  from  absolute  surprise ;  but 
she  suddenly  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  ludicrous 
astonishment  on  Mrs.  Mnrks's  face,  and  it  piqued 
her  into  an  immediate  reply. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  looking,  with 
her  clear  gray  eyes,  into  the  languid,  handsome 
face ;  "I  do  not  think  much  of  ceremony,  as  a 
general  rule,  and  I  should  be  glad  to  accept  your 
invitation,  if  it  were  possible.  But  it  is  not  pos- 
sible. I  never  leave  home." 

"  You  never  have  left  home,  perhaps,"  said 
the  lady,  smiling  a  little.  "  But,  if  you  will  par- 
don me,  that  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not 
begin  to  do  so.  Are  you  fond  of  gayety?  I 
think  Aunesdale  might  tempt  you  a  little  in  that 
way.  Adela  and  Morton  always  manage  to  get 
up  something  amusing  at  Christmas.  But  I  will 
not  urge  you — I  will  leave  the  matter  to  Mrs. 
Marks,  and  let  her  say  whether  or  not  you  shall 
go." 

She  looked  at  Mrs.  Marks,  and  Mrs.  Marks, 
who  had  recovered  her  powers  of  speech  by  this 
time,  was  ready  in  a  moment  to  take  her  cue. 

"  Indeed,  I  am  sure  Miss  Katharine  knows 
how  glad  I  would  be  to  see  her  go,"  she  said. 
"  It's  very  kind  of  you,  Mrs.  Annesley,  to  ask 
her.  She  has  a  very  dull  time,  shut  up  here 
with  Richard,  and  me,  and  the  children  ;  and  I 
hope  she  won't  let  any  of  us  stand  in  the  way  of 
her  taking  a  little  pleasure  when  there  is  such  a 
good  chance  for  it  as  this." 

"  I  take  charge  of  the  children  out  of  school, 
as  well  as  in,"  said  Katharine  to  Mra.  •Annesley. 
"  Mrs.  Marks  is  anxious  to  give  me  pleasure, 
but  my  going  would  cause  her  a  great  deal  of  in- 
convenience ;  so  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me  for 
declining  your  invitation." 

"  As  for  taking  care  of  the  children,"  said 
Mrs.  Marks,  before  Mrs.  Annesley  could  speak, 
"  that's  Letty's  business,  my  dear,  and  not  yours, 
as  you  know.  You've  spoiled  her  to  death  by 
.ooking  after  them  yourself,  and  the  sooner  she 


learns  to  do  it  again,  the  better. — I  hope  you 
don't  think  we  work  her  to  death,"  said  the  good 
woman,  turning  her  attention  to  Mrs.  Annesley, 
with  startling  rapidity.  "  She  took  it  all  on  her- 
self, and  I  begged  her  again  and  again  not  to 
worry  about  them,  though  it's  true  they're  so 
much  improved — especially  in  their  manners — 
that  you'd  hardly  know  them  for  the  same  chil- 
dren." 

"  Surely  their  manners  would  not  suffer  if  you 
left  them  for  the  short  space  of  a  fortnight,"  said 
Mrs.  Annesley  to  Katharine. 

"  For  the  matter  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  "  I 
promised  their  Aunt  Lucy  that  Katy  and  Sara 
should  pay  her  a  visit  this  Christmas ;  and  you 
know,  my  dear,  you  don't  have  much  to  do  with 
the  boys." 

"  Mrs.  Marks  is  evidently  determined  to  get 
rid  of  me,"  said  Katharine,  with  a  smile,  to  Mrs. 
Annesley ;  "  but  I  flatter  myself  she  would  miss 
me  after  I  was  gone.  And  so  I  think  I  shall 
abide  by  my  resolution  and  remain." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  solemnly,  "  if 
you  take  my  advice,  you'll  go." 

"  Take  her  advice  by  all  means,  Miss  Tresh- 
am,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley,  "  or  else  give  me  one 
good  reason  for  your  refusal." 

But  one  good  reason,  as  society  reckons  good 
reasons,  Katharine  could  not  give.  In  our  arti- 
ficial condition  of  life,  it  is  not  considered  a  valid 
or  even  a  courteous  excuse  to  say  that  you  have 
no  desire  to  perform  a  certain  action,  or  to  go  to 
a  certain  place.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  what  could 
be  a  better  reason  for  ordinary  social  refusals 
than  the  simple  statement  of  disinclination  ;  but, 
according  to  the  rules  of  a  certain  arbitrary  but 
very  ill-defined  code,  it  will  not  answer  at  all.  If 
a  man  asks  you  to  his  house,  you  must  not  say 
that  you  don't  want  to  come,  but  that  you  "  have 
pressing  business,"  or  "  a  previous  engagement," 
or  a  sick  wife,  or  a  dead  uncle,  or  any  other  lie 
that  may  be  convenient.  If  he  finds  you  out,  he 
will  not  be  offended,  he  will  take  the  pious  fraud 
as  it  was  intended.  But  if  you  had  simply  told 
the  truth,  and  said  that  you  felt  unwilling  to 
come,  he  would  have  had  good  right  to  be  in- 
sulted. Knowing  this  as  well  as  Mrs.  Annesley, 
Katharine  hesitated.  She  did  not  want  to  go  to 
Annesdale,  and  she  did  not  mean  to  go  if  she 
could  help  it ;  but  still,  social  usages  had  a  cer- 
tain power  over  her,  and,  hemmed  in  by  Mrs. 
Marks  on  one  side,  and  her  visitor  on  the  other, 
she  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  Mrs.  Annesley  saw 
her  embarrassment,  and  came  to  her  relief. 

"  1  am  sure  you  think  me  very  rude  to  press 


66 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


»ou  in  this  way,  Miss  Tresham  ;  but  I  am  really 
very  anxious  that  you  should  make  one  of  our 
Christmas  party,  and  that  anxiety  must  plead 
my  excuse.  I  see  that  you  are  half  persuaded  ; 
and  I  am  sure  that,  when  you  think  the  matter 
over,  you  will  find  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  oblige  us.  My  son  you  know  already, 
and  my  daughter  will  be  very  glad  to  meet  you. 
If  I  give  you  until  to-morrow  to  consider,  will  you 
promise  to  say  '  yes  '  then  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  quite  impossible,"  Katharine 
began. 

But  the  lady  had  already  risen,  and  was  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  in  parting  salute. 

"  I  shall  either  come  or  send  for  your  answer 
to-morrow,"  she  said ;  "  and  I  beg  you  most 
sincerely  to  let  it  be  favorable. — Mrs.  Marks,  I 
leave  the  cause  in  your  hands.  Promise  me 
that  you  will  make  her  come ! " 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  dubious- 
ly ;  "  but  Miss  Katharine's  very  hard-headed,  and 
I'm  afraid  she'll  go  her  own  way." 

"  So  much  the  better,  if  that  way  lies  toward 
Annesdale,"  said  the  mistress  of  Annesdale,  gra- 
ciously. Then  she  shook  hands  with  both  of 
them,  gave  Mrs.  Marks  an  invitation  to  Annes- 
dale in  that  vague,  general  way  which  means 
"  good-morning,"  told  Katharine  she  was  sure 
she  would  not  disappoint  her,  and  finally  swept 
out,  leaving  behind  her  a  faint  fragrance  and 
a  vivid  impression  of  affable  smiles  and  soft 
speeches,  and  shining  silk  and  rich  velvet. 

"  Bless  my  soul,  how  she  was  dressed !  "  said 
Mrs.  Marks,  as  soon  as  she  was  safely  out  of  ear- 
shot. "  Did  you  notice  the  quality  of  that  silk  ? 
I  never  saw  any  thing  half  as  heavy  in  my  life. 
It  must  have  cost  three  dollars  a  yard,  if  it  cost 
a  cent ;  and  what  an  elegant  bonnet !  Well ! " 
— with  a  long  breath — "  I  am  sure  I  never  was 
more  surprised  in  my  life !  I  thought  she  would 
have  been  just  the  other  way.  But  there's  no 
telling  what  people  will  do  for  their  children ; 
and,  after  all,  she  mayn't  be  as  proud  as  people 
say.  Nobody  could  have  been  more  polite  than 
ehe  was  this  morning.  I  was  astonished  you  did 
not  agree  to  go,"  she  went  on,  addressing  Katha- 
rine, with  mild  expostulation.  "  Of  course  you 
know  your  own  affairs  best ;  and  I  don't  mean 
to  intrude  my  advice  upon  you — for  advice  is  a 
thing  that  everybody's  anxious  to  give,  and  no- 
body's  thankful  to  get — but  you  know  what  she 
came  for,  my  dear,  and  I  can  tell  you  that  she  has 
done  a  great  deal  for  her  ;  and,  if  you  want  my 
opinion,  you'll  be  a  great  foo — simpleton,  if  you 
don't  go  to  Annesdale." 


"  Then  you  will  certainly  consider  me  a  great 
simpleton,"  said  Katharine,  coolly,  "  for  I  don't 
mean  to  go  to  Annesdale." 

With  this  ultimatum,  she  walked  off  to  th 
waiting  arithmeticians,  and  left  Mrs.  Marks  ti 
return  to  her  mince-meat  with  what  degree  of 
interest  she  could  muster. 

Dinner  was  over,  and  the  short  winter  after- 
noon was  more  than  half  gone  when  Katharine 
opened  Mrs.  Marks's  door,  and,  showing  herself 
in  her  bonnet  and  cloak,  asked  if  the  former  had 
any  objection  to  her  taking  the  children  to  Mor- 
ton House.  "  They  are  anxious  to  return  Felix's 
visit,"  she  said  (Felix  had,  a  fortnight  before, 
made  his  long-promised  call),  "  and  Mrs.  Gordon 
was  kind  enough  to  ask  me  to  come  to  see  her ; 
so,  if  you  have  no  objection,  we  will  walk  out 
there." 

"I  haven't  the  least  objection,"  said  Mrs. 
Marks,  looking  up  from  her  work,  and  wonder- 
ing not  a  little  at  the  grand  acquaintances  her 
governess  was  making.  "  I  am  glad  you  are 
going  to  take  the  children  yourself,  Miss  Kath- 
arine, for  you  can  see  that  they  don't  behave 
badly,  or  make  themselves  troublesome  to  Mrs. 
Gordon.  Isn't  it  rather  a  long  walk,  though  ?  " 

"  Not  for  me,"  said  Katharine,  and  shut  the 
door. 

The  day  had  been  overcast  from  its  dawn,  and 
the  afternoon  was  very  gray  and  gloomy  when 
the  governess  and  her  merry  troop  went  out  into 
it.  Every  thing  looked  sombre  and  tintless,  the 
bare  trees  stood  out  against  a  dull,  leaden  sky, 
the  distant  hills  seemed  desolate  and  brown,  the 
broad  fields  were  perhaps  the  most  cheerless  ele- 
ment of  the  scene,  with  their  dun-colored  hedges, 
their  wide  expanse  of  sere  plants,  and  their  frag- 
ments of  unpicked  cotton  hanging  in  melancholy 
shreds  from  the  withered  stalks.  All  around  the 
horizon  was  a  broad  band  of  pale-yellow  light, 
and  this,  together  with  the  singular  softness  of 
the  atmosphere,  made  Katharine  sure  that  there 
would  soon  be  a  change  in  the  weather.  "It  will 
rain  to-morrow,"  said  Jack,  looking  up  at  the 
sky.  "  Miss  Tresham,  don't  you  feel  the  wind  ? 
Papa  says  that  when  it  blows  this  way,  it  always 
brings  rain.  There,  Ponto ! — there  goes  a  rabbit, 
sir!" 

Ponto,  who  was  a  large  Newfoundland  dog, 
had  been  brought^along  for  the  purpose  of  chas- 
ing rabbits,  and  was  not  at  all  averse  to  the 
amusement.  In  fact,  he  saw  the  poor,  little 
furry  wanderer  before  Jack  did,  and  was  off  at 
a  mad  gallop,  followed  headlong  by  all  the  chil- 
dren. A  turn  in  the  road  soon  hid  them  from 


MISS  TRESHAM   ASKS   ADVICE. 


67 


the  sight  of  the  governess,  and  she.  gave  a  sigh 
of  relief.  She  liked  them,  and  their  bright  ani- 
mal spirits  never  jarred  on  her  as  the  spirits  of 
grown  people  sometimes  did ;  but  just  now  she 
was  glad  to  have  the  sombre  winter  scene  all  to 
herself,  and  much  obliged  to  Ponto  and  the  rab- 
bit who  had  secured  this  solitude.  To  her,  as  to 
a  great  many  other  people,  there  was  a  singular 
charm  in  the  leaden  sky,  the  bare  woods,  and 
blown  hills,  the  dun  neutral  tints  which  went  to 
make  up  the  scene.  Afar  off,  between  some 
fields,  there  was  a  clump  of  trees,  and  a  small 
"louse  from  which  a  column  of  blue  smoke  rose 
against  the  sky.  Katharine  looked  at  it  wist- 
fully. "  I  wonder  if  the  people  who  live  there 
are  happy  ?  "  she  thought.  "  I  wonder  if  they 
look  for  any  thing,  expect  any  thing,  dread  any 
thing  !  Oh,  me  !  I  am  sorry  for  them  if  they 
do !  "  As  she  went  her  way,  between  the  zigzag 
rail  fences  and  sear  hedges,  this  train  of  not  very 
cheerful  thought  colored  the  whole  scene.  She 
thought  that  she  liked  it  because  it  agreed  with 
her  mood ;  but,  in  truth,  if  her  mood  had  been 
different,  every  thing  would  have  borne  a  different 
seeming  to  her  eyes.  So  it  is  with  us.  If  our 
hearts  are  heavy,  the  most  beautiful  landscape 
that  ever  smiled  grows  dark  and  dreary  ;  while, 
if  they  are  light,  the  sunshine  from  them  over- 
flows and  colors  with  its  own  tints  all  the  world 
around  us.  Katharine's  world  was  made  up  of 
dull  neutral  hues  just  now,  leaden  grays,  and  cold 
browns,  and  dun,  dark  purples.  We  have  no 
right  to  put  the  earth  in  mourning  for  our  own 
troubles,  but  many  of  us  do  it  nevertheless. 

Morton  House  was  farther  off  than  she  had 
remembered,  and  the  afternoon  was  very  nearly 
spent  when  she  and  her  noisy  charges  walked 
up  the  avenue,  and  came  in  sight  of  the  circular 
terrace  and  the  brown  old  house  set  in  the  midst 
of  it.  This  was  Katharine's  first  fulfilment  of  the 
promise  she  had  given  Mrs.  Gordon,  and  she  could 
not  help  feeling  a  little  nervous  with  regard  to 
what  her  reception  might  be.  Would  the  lady 
be  kind  and  gracious,  as  she  had  been  before  ?  or 
would  she  think  that,  for  a  stranger,  Miss  Tresh- 
am  was  presuming  too  speedily  on  her  invita- 
tion ?  "  She  is  said  to  be  very  eccentric,"  Kath- 
arine thought  to  herself,  with  a  slight  feeling  of 
dismay — "  one  of  the  people  who  can  be  charm- 
ing one  day,  and  freezing  the  next,  Mrs.  Marks 
says.  Will  she  be  charming  or  freezing  to-day, 
I  wonder?  I  almost  wish  I  had  not  come."  It 
was  too  late  for  retreat,  however.  At  that  mo- 
ment, from  some  quarter  or  other,  Felix  espied 
them,  and  bore  down  with  a  shout  of  pleasure. 


Five  minutes  later,  they  were  entering  the 
hall. 

Felix  left  them  in  the  drawing-room,  while 
he  went  to  announce  their  arrival  to  his  mother, 
and  in  a  moment  returned,  accompanied  by  Har- 
rison. "  Mrs.  Gordon's  compliments  ;  would  the 
children  please  go  with  Mass  Felix  to  the  nursery ; 
and  she  would  be  glad  to  see  Miss  Tresham  in  her 
own  room."  This  was  the  substance  of  the  mes- 
sage delivered  by  th$  servant ;  and,  while  Felix 
led  off  his  visitors,  with  eager  assurances  that 
the  place  where  he  was  going  to  take  them  was 
not  a  nursery  at  all,  but  a  good,  big  room,  where 
his  playthings  were  kept,  Miss  Tresham  followed 
Harrison  across  the  hall,  and  was  ushered  into  the 
pleasant  sitting-room  where  she  had  been  intro- 
duced before. 

Mrs.  Gordon  was  lying  on  a  couch  by  the  fire, 
and  looked  very  ill,  her  visitor  thought.  She 
raised  herself,  however,  and,  extending  her  hand, 
smiled  with  pleasant  cordiality. 

"  So  you  are  really  as  good  as  your  word, 
Miss  Tresham,  and  have  come  to  see  me.  I  need 
not  say  you  are  heartily  welcome.  Sit  down.  Is 
it  not  very  cold  and  gloomy  out-of-doors  ?  " 

Evidently,  if  Mrs.  Gordon  was  "  eccentric," 
and  had  different  moods  for  different  days,  this 
was  one  of  her  most  gracious  moods,  and  one 
of  her  brightest  days.  At  least,  so  Katharine 
thought,  as  she  felt  that  her  instinct  about  the 
visit  had  not  misled  her,  and  as,  obeying  the 
motion  of  her  hostess's  hand,  she  sat  down  by 
the  fire.  She  did  not  know  whether  to  allude  to 
the  traces  of  suffering  so  plainly  marked  on  her 
companion's  face ;  but  the  latter  relieved  her 
uncertainty  on  this  point  at  once. 

"  I  have  been  quite  ill,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
am  sure  you  think  that  I  am  still,  in  looks  at 
least,  the  worse  for  it.  At  my  age,  one  shows 
so  plainly  things  which  pass  unnoticed  in  youth. 
If  you  had  come  a  day  or  two  ago,  I  could  not 
have  seen  you  ;  but  to-day  I  am  grateful  for  the 
presence  of  such  a  bright  face." 

The  bright  face  smiled  and  blushed  a  little  at 
this,  but  soon  recovered  its  usual  composure. 

"  I  am  glad  I  came,  then,"  said  Katharine. 
"  I  was  a  little  doubtful,  thinking  I  might  troubla 
you.  But  I  always  mean  what  I  say  myself^ 
and  I  gave  you  credit  for  meaning  what  you 
said  when  you  asked  me  to  come." 

"  You  were  quite  right,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon, 
smiling ;  "  I  meant  exactly  what  I  said,  and  per- 
haps a  little  more.  I  have  lived  a  long  time  in 
the  hottest  fever  of  the  world,"  she  went  on, 
"  and  this  stagnant  life  is  almost  too  much  for 


68 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


me.  lu  a  measure,  it  was  pure  selfishness  wbich 
made  me  press  you  to  return.  I  cannot  ask  the 
people  of  Lagrange  to  come  here.  I  have  gone 
out  of  their  life  and  their  world  forever.  But 
you  are  different.  The  first  moment  I  saw  you,  I 
knew  that  you  were  different ;  and  I  knew,  or 
thought  I  knew,  that  you  would  be  a  person 
vorth  knowing,  and  a  companion  worth  having." 

"  You  flatter  me,"  said  Katharine,  with  her 
breath  a  little  taken  away. 

"  I  never  flatter  anybody,"  answered  Mrs. 
Gordon,  coolly.  "You  know  as  well  as  I  do 
that,  although  you  are  not  particularly  pretty, 
and,  for  aught  I  know,  may  not  be  particularly 
slever,  you  are  particularly  attractive.  I  don't 
•wonder — "  she  paused,  with  a  smile  ;  then  added, 
"  Won't  you  take  off  your  bonnet,  and  spend  the 
evening  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  do  so  ;  but  I  have 
the  children  under  my  care,  and  I  must  take 
them  home  before  dark." 

"  Can't  they  go  home  by  themselves  ?  can't 
Babette  take  them?  Well"  —  as  Katharine 
shook  her  head  in  reply  to  both  propositions — 
"  I  won't  press  you.  But  leave  the  children  at 
home  another  day,  and  come  prepared  to  spend 
the  evening.  Surely,  your  holidays  begin  very 
soon  now  ?  " 

"  They  have  begun  already.  To-day  was  my 
last  of  school." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that.  I  can  hope,  then, 
to  see  you  often  in  the  course  of  the  next  two 
weeks  ?  " 

"  I— don't — know,"  said  Katharine,  doubt- 
fully. The  moment  afterward  she  caught  a  look 
•>{  surprise  on  Mrs.  Gordon's  face,  and  went  on, 
nastily :  "  I  mean  that  I  may  not  be  at  Mrs. 
Marks's  during  the  holidays.  I  received  a 
Christmas  invitation  to-day,  and  I  have  been 
doubting  whether  or  not  I  should  accept  it. 
Would  " — a  pause  — "  would  you  think  me  very 
impertinent,  Mrs.  Gordon,  if  I  asked  your  advice 
about  doing  so  ?  " 

"  I  should  not  think  you  impertinent  at  all, 
Miss  Treslmm  ;  and  I  should  be  very  glad  to  ad- 
vise you  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  leaving  selfish- 
ness out  of  the  question." 

Katharine  sat  still  and  looked  in  the  fire  for 
i  minute,  puckering  her  brow  into  a  slight  frown 
as  she  did  so.  Then  she  turned  round  and 
smiled  at  her  hostess. 

"  Don't  think  me  very  vacillating  and  irreso- 
lute," she  said  ;  "  but  the  fact  is,  I  declined  the 
Invitation  this  morning,  and  I  told  Mrs.  Marks  at 
dinner  that  I  positively  would  not  accept  it ;  yet 


such  is  the  perversity  of  human  nature  that  I  am 
half  inclined  to  retract  my  own  words  now,  and 
go.  If  one  or  two  doubts  could  be  solved  for 
me,  I  think  I  should." 

"  And  can  I  solve  those  doubts  ?  " 

"  If  you  choose,  I  am  sure  you  can.  Of 
course,  you  know  enough  of  your  cousin  to 
tell—" 

She  stopped  short,  for  Mrs.  Gordon  raised  up 
and  looked  at  her  with  astonished  eyes. 

"  My  cousin  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  You  surel» 
don't  mean  Mrs.  Annesley  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Katharine,  laughing  a  lit- 
tie.  "  You  can't  be  more  surprised  than  I  was. 
I  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Annesley  before ;  and  this 
morning  she  called  on  me,  and  absolutely  asked 
me  to  spend  Christmas  at  Annesdale — more  than 
that,  she  would  not  accept  a  refusal ;  but,  when 
I  declined  the  invitation,  said  that  she  would 
give  me  until  to-morrow  to  consider,  and  would 
send  for  my  final  answer  then.  Now,  if  I  am 
not  impertinent,  pray  tell  me  what  she  means  by 
it,  and  what  I  ought  to  do." 

Mrs.  Gordon  sank  back  on  her  cushions,  and 
smiled.  Instead  of  answering  Katharine's  ques- 
tion, she  asked  another : 

"  You  say  that  you  would  like  to  go  ?  "  . 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  frankly.  "  I  like  pleas- 
ure very  much — more  than  is  right,  I  am  afraid 
— and  I  should  like  very  much  to  go.  It  has 
been  four  years  since  I  danced  the  last  time," 
said  she,  looking  at  Mrs.  Gordon  gravely;  "and 
I  should  like  to  go  to  another  ball.  There  is  al- 
ways a  Christmas  ball  at  Annesdale,  Mrs.  Marks 
says.  If  I  knew  why  Mrs.  Annesley  asked  me, 
and  if  I  could  be  sure  that  she  really  wants  me, 
I  should  certainly  take  the  goods  the  gods  pro- 
vide, and  go." 

"  Go,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon.  "  Take  the 
goods  the  gods  provide,  and  enjoy  them  while 
you  can.  I  am  able  to  set  your  mind  at  rest  on 
both  those  points.  I  think  I  know  why  Mrs. 
Annesley  asked  you ;  and,  as  she  asked  you,  I 
am  sure  she  wants  you  to  go." 

"  This  is  your  advice  ?  " 

"  This  is  certainly  my  advice." 

"  Not  given  because  I  was  foolish  enough  to 
say  that  I  liked  pleasure,  but  honestly  and  sin- 
cerely ?  " 

"  Honestly  and  sincerely,"  answered  Mrs. 
Gordon,  smiling.  '"You  don't  suppose  I  would 
think  you  worth  much  if  you  had  not  youth 
enough  in  you  to  like  pleasure  ?  The  love  of  it 
is  born  in  us,  and  is  the  strongest  cord  that 
i  draws  us  heavenward,  as  well  as  the  heaviest 


R.   G. 


GO 


fetter  that  binds  us  to  the  earth.  Dou't  grudge 
your  youth  its  natural  impulses  and  pleasures. 
Believe  me,  the  apathy  and  the  distaste  of  later 
..tfe  will  come  on  you  soon  enough." 

"  But  Annesdale — "  said  Katharine. 

"  Go  to  Annesdale,  by  all  means.  I  don't 
simply  advise ;  I  am  bold  enough  to  urge  you  to 
do  so.  Shall  I  tell  you  why  ?  You  are  not  a 
simpering,  foolish  young  lady ;  so  I  think  I  may. 
It  is  evident  that  Mrs.  Annesley,  from  personal 
reasons — don't  blush,  my  dear,  for  I  don't  mean 
to  be  as  plain-spoken  as  I  was  before — is  anxious 
to  see  and  know  you.  She  has  taken  a  better 
way  of  doing  this  than  I  should  have  given  her 
credit  for — a  more  delicate  way,  that  is.  Don't 
deny  yourself  a  pleasure,  and  repulse  her  at  the 
same  time.  If  you  have  any  liking,  any  cordial 
friendship,  for  Morton,  meet  his  mother's  ad- 
vances frankly,  and  go  to  Annesdale." 

"  But,"  said  Katharine,  blushing  deeply,  de- 
spite her  companion's  admonition  to  the  con- 
trary, "  that  is  exactly  why  I  hesitate.  Mr. 
Annesley  has  been  very  kind  to  me  —  if  we 
were  on  the  same  social  level,  I  might  almost 
say  very  attentive — and  I  don't  know  what  con- 
struction might  be  placed  upon  this  visit." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  quietly, "  society 
is  a  state  of  hollow  but  very  useful  forms.  We 
all  know  that  they  are  hollow,  but  still,  we  all 
observe  them.  Mrs.  Annesley  has  asked  you  to 
spend  Christmas  at  Annesdale,  and  you  are  not 
supposed  to  know  any  thing  of  the  motive  for 
this  invitation.  If  any  motive  is  concealed 
beneath  it,  what  difference  does  that  make  ?  If 
she  asks  you  for  one  reason,  and  you  go  for 
another,  what  matter  of  that?  Have  you  not 
lived  long  enough  in  the  world  to  know  that  life 
— this  outside,  social  life — is  merely  a  game  of 
chance  and  skill  ?  This  visit  will  bind  you  to 
nothing.  The  day  after  you  come  away,  or  the 
day  before,  for  that  matter,  you  will  be  at  per- 
fect liberty  to  reject  Morton  if  he  asks  you  to 
marry  him.  I  hope  you  won't  do  any  thing  half 
so  foolish,  though,"  she  added,  with  a  smile.  "  I 
knew  his  father  well ;  and  Morton  is  Edgar  An- 
nesley over  again.  No  girl  could  ever  do  bet- 
ter than  to  accept  him." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  Katharine,  kindly 
and  cordially.  But  she  did  not  say  it  as  if  she 
bad  any  personal  interest  in  the  question  of 
accepting  or  rejecting  the  young  owner  of  An- 
nesdale. She  spoke  with  her  eyes  fastened 
thoughtfully  on  the  fire ;  and  when  she  looked 
up,  she  added  suddenly,  "  Then,  once  for  all,  you 
advise  me  to  go  ?  " 


"  Once  for  all,  I  do.  Will  you  prove  an  ex- 
ception to  most  ad  vice -asking  people,  and  take 
my  advice  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  said  the  girl,  rising  and  stand- 
ing before  the  fire,  with  the  ruddy  light  flicker- 
ing  over  her  bright  face  and  graceful  figure.  I 
am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  giving  it,"  she 
went  on ;  "  and  I  should  be  very  ungrateful  if  I 
did  not  take  it  after  you  have  been  so  frank  with 
me.  I  shall  write  to  Mrs.  Annesley  to-morrow, 
and  tell  her  that  I  accept  her  invitation.  May  I 
come  to  see  you  when  I  return,  and  tell  you  how 
much  I  have  enjoyed  myself?  " 

"  Come  to  see  me  certainly,  and  tell  me  all 
about  it.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  hear  every 
thing.  But  must  you  go  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  growing  late,  and  we  have  a  long 
walk  from  here  home.  Neither  the  children  nor 
myself  mind  it,  though,"  she  added,  as  the  word 
"  carriage  "  formed  on  Mrs.  Gordon's  lips.  ''  I 
must  bid  you  good-evening,  and  I  hope  you  will 
be  well  when  I  come  again." 

With  a  sudden  impulse  which,  if  she  had 
stopped  a  minute  to  consider,  would  certainly 
have  been  repressed,  she  bent  down  and  laid 
her  lips  on  Mrs.  Gordon's  cheek.  It  was  a  very 
light  caress,  but  the  latter  felt  it  and  started. 
Then  she  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"  You  are  certainly  very  charming,"  she  said. 
"  I  don't  wonder  that  others,  besides  myself,  have 
found  it  out." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


WHEN  Mrs.  Annesley  reached  home,  she  found 
that  the  whole  family  of  Taylors,  mother  and 
daughters,  had  arrived  at  Annesdale  during  her 
absence,  and  were  established  to  "  spend  the 
day,"  according  to  the  irksome  custom  which 
then  prevailed,  and  for  that  matter  still  prevails, 
in  country  districts.  Their  bonnets  were  laid 
aside,  their  work  was  brought  out,  and  the  draw- 
ing-room  was  full  of  the  sound  of  their  chatter 
and  laughter,  when  the  lady  of  the  house  entered. 
Poor  Adela  was  on  duty,  and  gave  a  glance  com- 
pounded ludicrously  of  resignation  and  disgust 
to  her  mother.  Mrs.  Annesley  telegraphed  a 
reply  in  much  the  same  spirit,  then  swept  for- 
ward and  greeted  her  guests  with  effusion. 
"  Dear  Mrs.  Taylor,  what  a  pleasant  surprise  I 
How  kind  of  you  to  come !  "  etc.,  etc. — "  Maria, 
how  well  you  are  looking !  —  Funny,  has  your 


70 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


neuralgia  quite  gone  ? — Augusta,  I  need  not  ask 
how  you  are — I  never  saw  you  more  blooming. 
Of  course  you  have  come  to  spend  the  day.  I 
cannot  think  of  letting  you  off,"  etc. 

They  all  spent  the  day  with  religious  exacti- 
tude. It  was  nightfall  before  the  last  item  of 
news  was  discussed,  the  knitting-needles  and 
worsted-work  put  away,  the  bonnets  resumed, 
and  the  carriage  ordered.  Mrs.  Annesley  gave 
a  heart-felt  sigh  as  she  stood  at  the  window  and 
watched  them  drive  away.  "What  a  relief!" 
she  said.  "  It  is  dreadful  to  think  what  bores 
those  people  are  ! " 

"  The  night  is  going  to  be  dark,  and  the  roads 
are  very  heavy,"  said  Adela.  "  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if  they  had  a  bad  time  getting  home — 
and  serve  them  right,  too,  for  staying  so  late ! 
Now,  mamma,  what  news  ?  I  have  been  dying 
to  hear,  ever  since  you  came  ;  and  I  thought  they 
never  were  going." 

"  Nothing  very  satisfactory,"  her  mother  an- 
swered, without  turning  round.  "  She  declines 
to  come,  Adela." 

"  What ! "  said  Adela ;  and,  even  in  the  soft 
mingling  of  firelight  and  twilight,  it  was  evident 
that  her  face  fell.  "It  can't  be  possible  that 
she  declines  to  come,  mamma  ! " 

"  She  does,  though.  She  refused  the  invita- 
tion absolutely  and  not  very  courteously." 

"  Then  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  What  I  will  do  is  yet  to  be  decided — what  I 
did  do  was  to  decline  to  accept  her  refusal.  I  in- 
sisted on  her  taking  a  day  to  consider  the  mat- 
ter, and  said  I  would  send  for  her  answer  to- 
morrow." 

"  That  is  more  than  I  should  have  done," 
said  Adela,  flushing.  "She  will  think  she  has 
gained  every  thing." 

"  She  is  welcome  to  think  so,"  was  the  quiet 
response. 

"  It  is  nothing  but  insolence ! "  cried  Mrs. 
French.  "  I  wish  I  had  her  in  my  power,  I'd — 
I'd  strangle  her !  Mamma,  I  don't  see  how  you 
ever  submitted  to  it !  " 

"  We  must  submit  to  a  great  deal,  Adela,  if 
we  want  to  carry  our  points." 

"  And  do  you  think  you  will  carry  this  one  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  will  come." 

"But  if  she  don't?" 

"  Then  I  shall  be  disappointed,  but  not  seri- 
ously so.  All  I  need  is  time  ;  and  time,  I  think, 
I  can  induce  Morton  to  grant  me.  Since  I  have 
given  a  conditional  consent,  he  fias  promised  that 
he  will  not  speak  until  1  have  seen  and  judged 
of—of  this  governess." 


"  I  should  make  that  a  long  process/' 

"No;  for  I  hope  it  will  not  be  long  before  1 
have  proofs  concerning  her  which  not  even  Mor- 
ton can  disregard." 

"  And  meanwhile  ?  " 

"  And  meanwhile,  she  cannot  fail  to  suffer  by 
close  contrast  with  Irene  Vernon.  She  is  not 
pretty,  Adela." 

"N — o,  mamma,  not  pretty,  perhaps — but 
handsome  in  a  certain  style  that  men  like.  If 
you  could  have  seen  her  talking  to  Morton  at 
the  pond  that  day !  It  was  all  her  fault  that  he 
lost  sight  of  that  hateful  child,  and  had  such  a 
frightful  accident.  Of  course,  Irene  is  a  beauty 
— but  I  wouldn't  trust  to  this  girl's  not  being 
pretty,  if  I  were  you." 

"  Trust  to  it !  You  don't  suppose  I  have 
lived  to  my  age,  without  learning  that  there  are 
many  things  besides  a  pretty  face  that  make  a 
fool  of  a  man.  It  certainly  is  not  this  girl's  face 
which  has  turned  that  poor  boy's  head.  Let  me 
see — what  is  the  day  of  the  month  ?  " 

"  The  nineteenth,"  answered  Adela,  wonder- 
ing a  little  at  the  question. 

Mrs.  Annesley  walked  to  the  fire,  making 
some  calculation  as  she  went.  Mrs.  French,  who 
had  meanwhile  taken  a  seat,  watched  her  with 
languid  interest.  She  did  not  pretend  to  under, 
stand  all  her  mother's  schemes  ;  but  her  reliance 
was,  in  a  different  way,  quite  as  complete  as 
Morton's.  She  had  the  most  profound  admira- 
tion for  her  mother's  diplomatic  abilities  ;  and 
did  not  honestly  believe  that  any  cause  was  hope- 
less as  long  as  she  retained  the  management  of  it. 

"  Well,  mamma,"  she  said,  at  last,  "  what  are 
you  thinking  about  ?  " 

"  I  am  thinking,"  answered  Mrs.  Annesley, 
absently,  "  how  long  it  takes  a  letter  to  go  to 
London,  and  an  answer  to  return." 

"A  letter? — to  go? — "  Adela  sat  up  and 
stared  at  her  mother.  "  A  letter  to  go  to  Lon- 
don 1  Mamma,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley,  glancing 
round  at  the  closed  door,  as  if  to  make  sure 
that  nobody  was  within  hearing — "  I  mean  that 
I  have  no  idea  that  my  son  shall  marry  an  adven- 
turess ;  and  that  I  have  been  making  inquiries 
about  Miss  Tresham  for  some  time." 

Mrs.  French  gave  a  little  scream,  half  of 
excitement,  half  of  slightly  comic  alarm.  "  Good 
gracious,  you  don't  say  so  !  Why,  this  is  becom- 
ing quite  interesting.  Wouldn't  Morton  be  vexed 
if  he  knew  ?  Tell  me  all  about  it,  mamma — how 
long  ago  did  you  begin,  and  what  have  you  found 
out  ?  " 


B.  G. 


71 


"  I  can't  talk  about  it  here,"  said  Mrs.  Amies- 
fey,  a  little  nervously.  "  Morton  might  come  in 
any  minute  ;  and  I  would  not  let  him  know  for 
the  world.  When  I  have  found  out  what  I  want 
to  know,  I  shall  lay  the  matter  before  him  ;  but, 
until  then,  he  would  not  listen  to  any  thing  I 
could  urge.  His  scruples  on  the  subject  are  ab- 
surd." 

"  Most  of  his  ideas  are,"  said  Mrs.  French, 
coolly.  "  Dear  me,  there  is  his  step  in  the  hall ! 
May  I  come  to  your  room  to-night,  mamma,  and 
hear  all  about  it  ?  Say  yes,  please." 

"  I  suppose  you  may,  though  I  am  half-afraid 
to  trust  you." 

"  Never  fear  about  trusting  me.  I'm  not  like 
some  foolish  women,  who  tell  every  thing  to  their 
husbands.  Frank  is  a  good  fellow,  and  tells  me 
all  his  secrets  ;  but  he  doesn't  hear  any  of  mine. 
—Do  you,  Frank  ?  " 

"  Do  I  what,  Adela  ?  "  asked  Frank,  who  en- 
tered at  the  moment  in  a  very  splashed  and  dis- 
reputable condition.  "  I  don't  mean  to  stop  a 
minute,"  he  said,  hastily,  as  he  was  transfixed 
by  his  wife's  glance.  "  I  only  came  in  to  tell 
you  what  splendid  luck  we've  had.  I  never  saw 
the  pond  so  flush  of  ducks  before.  Morton's  a 
better  shot  than  I  am,  and  he  bagged  no  less 
than—" 

"  Frank,  if  you  don't  go  up-stairs  this  minute 
and  take  off  that  abominable  corduroy,  I  will 
never  speak  to  you  again  ! "  cried  Mrs.  French, 
in  a  high-treble  key.  "  It  smells  horribly  !  Who 
cares  about  your  miserable  ducks  ?  I  don't !  " 

"  You'll  care  about  eating  them,  I  expect," 
said  the  good-natured  Frank,  as  he  left  the  room 
rather  crestfallen,  and  went  to  change  the  objec- 
tionable corduroy,  which,  being  thoroughly  wet, 
had,  in  fact,  a  very  far  from  agreeable  odor. 

A  few  minutes  afterward  Morton  entered,  and, 
having  had  the  discretion  to  change  his  dress, 
was  welcomed  more  cordially  than  his  fellow- 
sportsman  had  been. 

In  answer  to  his  mother's  inquiries,  he  said 
that  they  had  had  a  very  good  day's  sport ;  that 
the  ducks  were  plenty,  and  by  no  means  hard  to 
approach ;  and  that  their  game-bag  was  full. 

"  Frank  enjoyed  it  extremely,"  he  said,  in  a 
tone  that  was  rather  tired.  "  For  my  part,  I  am 
not  as  fond  of  sport  as  I  used  to  be." 

"  I  suppose  it  takes  a  fox-chase  to  rouse 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley.  "  By-the-way,  there 
will  be  some  fox-hunting  next  week,  will  there 
not  ?  " 

''  To  be  sure,"  answered  Morton.  "  French 
was  talking  about  it  to-day.  Langdon,  and  Tal- 


cott,  and  half  a  dozen  more,  will  be  here,  who 
care  for  little  besides  fox-hunting.  I  wrote  to 
Godfrey  Seymour  and  told  him  to  bring  hia 
hounds  with  him  when  he  came." 

"  Isn't  your  own  pack  a  good  one?  " 

"  The  more  the  merrier,  you  know ;  and  no 
hounds  are  like  Seymour's.  He  has  the  best- 
trained  pack  in  the  country." 

"  I  hope  he  will  come." 

"  I  hope  so,  indeed,  for  his  own  sake  as  well 
as  on  account  of  his  dogs.  There  isn't  a  better 
fellow  living  than  Godfrey.  Is  your  party  quite 
made  up,  mother  ?  "  he  went  on.  "  If  there  is 
anybody  else  to  be  invited,  you  know  you  ought 
to  be  attending  to  it.  Almost  everybody  has 
made  engagements  for  Christmas  by  this  time." 

"  There  is  nobody  else  to  be  invited,"  said 
Mrs.  Annesley.  She  paused  a  moment,  then 
added,  quietly :  "  I  gave  the  last  invitation  in 
Tallahoma  to-day." 

"  In  Tallahoma  !  "  echoed  her  son.  "  Whom 
did  you  ask  in  Tallahoma  ?  John  Warwick  ?  " 

"  No,  quite  a  different  person.  Miss  Tresh- 
am." 

The  young  man  started.  That  name  was  the 
last  he  had  expected  to  hear,  and  looked  at  his 
mother  for  a  moment  in  surprise.  Then  he  went 
round  to  the  back  of  her  chair,  and,  bending 
down,  kissed  her  brow  just  where  the  hair  was 
parted. 

"  My  dear  mother,  thank  you,"  he  said,  sim- 
ply. 

"  Don't  thank  me,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley,  in 
rather  a  hard  voice.  "  I  need  not  tell  you  that  it 
cost  me  a  struggle,  Morton.  But  I  promised  you 
to  see  and  know  her,  and  I  thought  this  oppor- 
tunity the  best  for  the  purpose.  People  will 
wonder,  no  doubt ;  but  we  must  submit  to  that." 

"  Let  them  wonder,"  said  he,  a  little  haught- 
ily ;  but  his  tone  softened,  as  he  added :  "  You 
were  quite  right ;  this  will  be  the  best  opportu- 
nity for  seeing  and  knowing  her.  Is  there  noth- 
ing that  I  can  do  for  you,  mother  ?  "  he  went  on. 
"  Is  there  nothing  you  could  ask  of  me  ?  I 
should  like  to  show  you  in  some  way  how  much 
I  appreciate  the  sacrifice  you  have  made." 

"  Yes,  there  is  one  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley, perceiving  her  advantage,  and  seizing  it 
without  an  instant's  hesitation.  "  You  can  cer- 
tainly do  one  thing  for  me,  Morton.  I  have 
asked  this  girl  here  for  your  sake.  For  my 
sake  promise  me  that  while  she  is  here  you  will 
refrain  from  paying  her  any  marked  attention, 
that  you  will  not  give  people  any  opportunity  to 
couple  your  name  and  hers  together." 


MORTON   HOI SK 


Morton's  brow  contracted  a  little.  He 
thought  his  mother  had  taken  an  unfair  advan- 
tage of  his  offer,  but  he  did  not  say  so ;  indeed, 
after  a  moment,  he  saw  that  he  had  no  alterna- 
tive but  to  consent.  He  had  rashly  laid  himself 
open  to  this,  and  he  must  abide  by  his  own 
words. 

"  I  promise,"  he  said,  a  little  coldly,  "  but  I 
did  not  think  you  would  have  asked  such  a  thing 
of  me." 

His  mother  rose  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  Why,  my  dear  son  ?  Why  should  I  not 
ask  it  of  you  ?  You  know  where  all  my  hopes 
for  you  are  fixed.  Can  you  wonder  that  I  do  not 
wish  you  to  put  an  impassable  barrier  between 
yourself  and  their  fulfilment  ?  " 

He  knew  what  she  meant — he  knew  she  was 
thinking  of  Irene  Vernon — so  he  did  not  answer. 
He  had  very  sensitive  ideas  of  his  own,  and  he 
showed  them  in  nothing  more  than  in  the  reti- 
cence he  always  observed  with  regard  to  topics 
like  these.  Nothing  would  have  induced  him  to 
mention  Miss  Vernon's  name  in  a  connection  of 
this  sort.  After  a  while,  he  sighed  a  little,  and 
put  his  arm  round  his  mother. 

"  You  must  bear  with  me,"  he  said.  "  Moth- 
er, dear,  it  is  hard  that  at  this  late  day  I  should 
begin  to  be  a  trouble  to  you ;  but  be  patient,  be 
hopeful,  and  perhaps  in  time  we  may  live  it 
down." 

Mrs.  Annesley  went  to  her  own  room  early 
that  night.  She  was  tired,  she  said ;  her  drive 
to  town  and  the  Taylors  together  had  quite  ex- 
hausted her,  and  her  only  chance  of  being  mod- 
erately well  the  next  day  was  to  retire  at  an  hour 
that  Adcla  was  fond  of  calling  uncivilized — Ade- 
la's  pet  idea  of  civilization  being  to  go  to  bed 
at  one  o'clock  and  rise  at  twelve.  To-night, 
however,  Mrs.  French  made  no  demur  at  the 
move.s  She  yawned  and  said  the  Taylors  had 
done  for  her,  too  ;  then  bade  her  brother  good- 
night, and  followed  her  mother  up-stairs. 

"  You  are  going  to  smoke?  "  she  said  to  her 

husband,  who  muttered  something  of  the  sort  in 

the  hall  below.     "  Oh,  very  well ;  take  your  time 

.bout  it;    I  am  going  to  mamma's  room  for  a 

while." 

Her  face  vanished  from  over  the  balustrade, 
and  the  minute  afterward  the  two  gentlemen 
heard  her  dress  rustling  along  the  upper  pas- 
sage, and  the  opening  and  closing  of  Mrs.  An- 
nesley's  door. 

"  They  are  good  for  a  two-hours'  gossip  at 
lefest,"  said  Mr.  French,  on  hearing  this.  "  That's 


their  notion  of  '  going  to  bed  early  and  getting  a 
long  rest ! '  Come,  Morton,  we'll  have  a  smoke. 
Do  you  know  where  the  papers  are  that  came 
this  morning  ?  " 

In  Mrs.  Annesley's  chamber  a  large  fire  was 
blazing  brightly  and  making  the  whole  room 
radiant  with  that  beautiful  glow  which  a  judi- 
cious mixture  of  pine,  and  oak,  and  hickory,  can 
alone  diffuse,  when  Adela  entered.  It  rendered 
any  other  light  almost  unnecessary  ;  but  a  lamp 
burned  with  quiet,  steady  lustre  on  the  table  at 
Mrs.  Annesley's  side,  and,  scattered  around  its 
base,  were  several  letters  and  a  newspaper. 
She  looked  up  from  the  pages  of  one  of  the 
former  when  the  door  opened  and  she  saw  her 
daughter. 

"  I  thought  your  curiosity  would  not  let  you 
remain  down-stairs  long,"  she  said.  "  Come  in, 
but.be  sure  and  close  the  door  securely." 

"Well,  mamma,  I'm  all  impatience,"  said 
Adela,  after  she  had  waited  some  time,  and  her 
mother  took  no  further  notice  of  her,  but  went 
on  reading  the  letter  she  held. 

u  Look  at  that,  then,"  said  her  mother,  push- 
ing the  newspaper  across  the  table  and  pointing 
with  her  finger  to  a  particular  paragraph. 

Adela  took  it  up  wonderingly.  The  sheet 
was  mammoth,  and  proved  to  be  a  copy  of  the 
London  Times,  in  date  five  or  six  months  old. 
Following  the  direction  of  the  finger,  her  eye  fell 
at  once  on  the  following  advertisement : 

"  If  the  friends  or  relations  of  Katharine 
Tresham,  formerly  of  the  British  West  Indies, 
and  lately  of  Cumberland,  England,  are  desirous 
of  knowing  her  present  whereabouts  and  ad- 
dress, they  can  obtain  this  information  by  ad- 
dressing R.  G.,  box  1084,  Mobile,  Alabama." 

Adela  first  stared,  then  caught  her  breath, 
and  looked  up  at  her  mother. 

"Is  it  possible  you  wrote  this,  mamma?  " 

"  Yes,  1  wrote  it,"  Mrs.  Annesley  answered. 
"  I  could  not  let  matters  go  on  as  they  had  been 
doing  for  months  past.  I  felt,  and  I  still  feel 
sure  there  is  something  wrong  about  the  girl. 
Being  confident  of  this,  and  seeing  Morton's 
growing  infatuation,  I  knew  that  to  lift  the  cur- 
tain from  her  life  was  the  only  hope  of  saving 
him.  If  I  have  done  her  harm,  she  has  only 
herself  and  her  ambitious  schemes  to  thank  for 
it.  Any  parent  would  hold  me  more  than  justi- 
fied in  the  means  I  have  used." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  said  Adela,  "  I  think  the 
means  are  excellent.  But  I  wonder  how  you 


R.   G 


73 


ever  thought  of  them,  and  how  did  you  get  this 
'nserted  ?  " 

"  I  sent  it  to  Mr.  Russell  when  he  was  in 
England  last  summer.  He  is  thoroughly  trust- 
worthy, and  will  neither  mention  the  fact  nor 
ask  any  questions.  It  was  inserted  in  the  Times 
for  a  month,  and  he  sent  me  this  copy." 

"  Did  any  thing  come  of  it  ?  " 

"  Something  came  of  it  sooner  than  I  had 
ventured  to  hope.  Before  the  advertisement 
had  appeared  a  week,  a  letter  was  written,  and 
reached  me  in  due  time." 

She  handed  a  letter  across  the  table,  and 
Adela  received  it  eagerly.  Her  curiosity  was 
fairly  in  a  flame,  and,  although  she  tore  open 
the  folded  sheet  very  hastily,  she  had  still  time 
enough  to  observe  that  the  paper,  writing,  and 
whole  style  of  the  missive,  were  unexceptionable. 
It  was  evidently  written  by  a  man,  and  was  quite 
terse : 

"  If  R.  G.  can  give  any  accurate  information 
concerning  the  present  whereabouts  and  address 
of  Katharine  Tresham,  formerly  of  Porto  Rico,  in 
the  West  Indies,  and  lately  of  Dornthorne  Place, 
Cumberland,  England,  he  will  be  entitled  to  the 
thanks  of  her  friends,  and  can  obtain  a  liberal 
reward  by  addressing  Messrs.  Rich  &  Little, 
Lincoln's  Inn,  London." 

After  Adela  read  the  last  words  twice  over, 
she  looked  up  at  her  mother,  and  shrugged 
her  shoulders.  "  I  don't  think  the  reply  gives 
much  more  information  than  the  advertisement," 
she  said. 

"  When  that  came,"  answered  Mrs.  Annesley, 
"  I  saw  in  a  moment  that  I  had  gone  to  work 
frrong — that  instead  of  offering  to  give  informa- 
tion, I  should  have  asked  for  it.  I  saw  there 
was  a  secret  to  keep ;  and  this  friend  who  offers 
me  a  liberal  reward,  and  refers  me  to  a  couple 
of  lawyers,  was  as  much  interested  as  the  girl 
herself  in  keeping  it.  I  felt  sure,  however,  that 
he  did  not  know  her  whereabouts,  that  he  was 
honestly  anxious  to  be  enlightened.  In  that 
case,  I  thought  I  saw  my  way,  and  this  is  what 
I  wrote. 

Again  she  pushed  a  letter  across  the  table, 
and  again  Adela  took  it  up  and  read : 

"  If  the  gentleman  who  referred  R.  G.  to 
Messrs.  Rich  &  Little  will  communicate  his  own 
address  to  box  1084,  Mobile,  Alabama,  he  can 
obtain  the  information  he  desires,  and  be  spared 
the  payment  of  a  reward." 


"  Well  !  and  what  was  the  answer  to 
this  ?  " 

"  The  answer  to  this  came  very  shortly,  and 
puzzled  me  not  a  little.  Here  it  is." 

The  second  missive,  in  the  same  writing,  and 
on  the  same  paper  as  the  first,  was  in  turn  handed 
across  the  table  and  read : 

"  Mr.  St.  John  has  received  R.  G.'s  letter.  If 
R.  G.  possesses  any  real  knowledge  of  Miss  Tresh- 
am's  place  of  abode,  and  objects  to  communicat- 
ing that  knowledge  through  Mr.  St.  John's  law- 
yers, he  can  address  directly — 

"  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  ESQ., 

"  Poste  Restante, 

"fiaden." 

"  Mr.  St.  John  !— Mr.  St.  John's  lawyers  ! "  re- 
peated Adela.  "  Well,  Miss  Tresham  certainly 
seems  to  have  a  grand  sort  of  person  interested 
in  her !  Dear  me,  mamma,  suppose  she  has  run 
away  from  her  friends,  and  is  really  a  lady,  after 
all  ?  " 

"  She  is  much  more  likely  to  be  an  adventur- 
ess," said  Mrs.  Annesley,  bitterly.  "  That  high, 
sounding  name  did  not  deceive  me  for  a  minute. 
By  return  mail,  I  forwarded  her  address  to  Mr. 
Henry  St.  John,  and  requested  some  information 
concerning  her,  for  personal  and  family  reasons. 
No  answer  whatever  came  to  that  letter.  After 
waiting  some  time,  and  finding  that  none  was 
likely  to  come,  and  that  evidently  nothing  had 
occurred  to  call  Miss  Tresham  away  from  La- 
grange,  I  wrote  to  the  lawyer  in  Mobile,  through 
whom  I  received  these  letters,  and  requested  him 
to  make  inquiries  in  London  about  this  Mr.  St. 
John.  He  did  so  at  once,  and  I  am  now  waiting 
to  hear  the  result.  It  may  be  some  time  before 
I  obtain  the  facts  I  want,  but  every  thing  is  pos- 
sible to  patience  and  money,  and  I  shall  obtain 
them  in  the  end.  If  it  takes  my  whole  fortune," 
she  went  on,  passionately,  "  I  will  obtain  them, 
sooner  than  let  my  son  wreck  his  life  by  marry- 
ing  this  woman." 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Mr.  St.  John  is 
a  nice  person,"  said  Adela,  gravely  regarding  the 
two  letters  that  lay  open  on  the  table  before 
her. 

"I  am  sure  he  is  a  sharper,"  her  mother  re- 
torted, "and  probably  in  league  with  Miss  Tresh- 
am. Why  he  should  have  noticed  my  advertise- 
ment at  all,  puzzles  me." 

"  Perhaps  because  he  was  afraid  somebody 
else  would,"  said  Adela,  too  lazy  to  do  battle  for 
her  own  "  nice-person  "  theory.  "  Well,  mam- 


74 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


ma,  when  do  you  expect  to  hear  something 
definite  about  him  ?  " 

"  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Burns  the  other  day,  making 
the  inquiry,"  her  mother  answered.  "  I  was 
looking  over  his  reply  when  you  came  in. 
There  it  is — you  can  see  it  if  you  choose." 

"  Of  course  I  choose,"  said  Adela ;  and 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  she  took  the 
indicated  letter  and  opened  it.  Mr.  Burns  was 
the  Mobile  lawyer  of  whom  Mrs.  Annesley  had 
spoken,  and  this  was  what  he  said : 

"  DEAR  MADAM  :  Your  favor  of  the  3d  ultimo 
came  safely  to  hand.  In  reply  to  your  inquiries, 
I  am  able  to  say  that  I  hope  soon  to  hear  from 
rov  agent  in  London,  with  regard  to  the  infor- 
mation you  aee  anxious  to  receive.  I  anticipate 
little  difficulty  in  obtaining  this  information,  if 
the  addresses  which  you  have  furnished  me  are 
at  all  correct  The  solicitors  at  Lincoln's  Inn 
will  certainly  be  able  to  satisfy  you  concerning 
the  real  character  and  .stand  ing  of  Mr.  St.  John. 
If  we  should  meet  with  any  difficulty  there,  it 
will  be  a  little  more  troublesome,  but  quite  as 
practicable  to  make  these  inquiries  through 
other  channels.  In  either  case,  you  may  be 
sure  of  receiving  reliable  information  in  a  com- 
paratively short  time.  I  have  also  forwarded  to 
my  agent  your  copy  of  Mr.  St.  John's  letter,  giv- 
ing the  name  of  the  place  where  Miss  Tresham 
resided  in  Cumberland.  By  prosecuting  his  in- 
quiries there,  he  may  be  able  to  learn  something 
of  this  lady.  I  hope  to  receive  a  letter  by  the 
middle  of  the  month,  and  will  forward  it  to  you 
immediately. 

"  Assuring  you  of  my  continued  secrecy,  and 
acknowledging  your  desire  that  I  will  not  spare 
expense,  I  remain, 

"  Very  respectfully, 
"  WILLIAM  F.  BURNS." 

Adcla  philosophically  folded  up  the  letter, 
•nd  returned  it  to  her  mother. 

"  I  gee  now  why  you  gave  your  consent,"  she 
aaid.  "  You  wanted  to  make  Morton  defer  mat- 
tern,  and  so  gain  time." 

"  It  was  my  only  hope,"  said  her  mother. 
14 1  knew  that  if  once  Morton  spoke  to  the  girl, 
he  would  hold  fast  to  his  word  through  every 
thing.  Now  I  may  stave  off  a  declaration,  until 
I  can  show  him  who  and  what  she  is." 

"If  that  is  your  hope,  I  should  think  you 
were  very  unwise  to  ask  her  to  spend  a  week  in 
the  same  house  with  him." 

"  And  you  don't  know  that  by  this  very  thing 


I  took  the  surest  means  of  binding  him  to  his 
promise.  He  would  do  any  thing  sooner  than 
break  it  now,  that  I  have,  as  he  thinks,  made 
such  a  sacrifice  for  him.  But  that  was  not  rny 
only  reason  for  asking  her.  I  wanted  her  here 
— in  my  power,  under  my  hand.  When  the  let- 
ter from  London  comes,  I  want  to  give  her  a 
choice  between  open  exposure,  or  leaving  La- 
grange.  Then  I  do  not  believe  that,  once  con- 
trasted with  Irene  Vernon,  she  could  continue  to 
attract  Morton." 

Adela  shook  her  head. 

"That's  your  mistake,  mamma,"  she  said. 
"Morton  has  known  Irene  Vernon  as  long  or 
longer  than  he  has  known  this  girl,  and  do  you 
suppose  he  never  contrasted  them  in  his  mind  ? 
I  am  as  anxious  as  you  can  be  that  he  should 
fall  in  love  with  her ;  but  I  don't  think  it  is  like- 
ly just  now." 

"  We  shall  see." 

"Yes,  we  shall  see.  But,  for  my  part,  I 
don't  believe  Miss  Tresham  will  come.  I  am 
sure  she  has  sense  enough  to  distrust  an  invita- 
tion to  Annesdale." 

"  That  may  be ;  but,  nevertheless,  I  think 
she  will  accept  it." 

The  event  fully  justified  this  belief.  The  next 
day  was  cloudy  and  stormy  in  the  extreme,  but 
Mrs.  Annesley  dispatched  a  messenger  to  Talla- 
homa,  and  waited  anxiously  for  his  return.  In 
an  hour  or  two,  a  damp  note,  woefully  limp,  and 
odorous  of  wet  linsey,  was  brought  to  her.  She 
opened  it  with  two  fingers,  read  the  few  lines 
which  it  contained,  and  looked  up  at  her  daugh- 
ter with  a  smile. 

"  It  is  all  right,  Adela,"  she  said.  "  She  will 
come." 


CHAPTER  XV. 
MEERT    CHRISTMAS! 

WEDNESDAY  was  Christmas  eve ;  and  on  Wed- 
nesday the  Annesley  equipage  rolled  majestically 
up  to  Mr.  Marks's  gate,  and  the  children  rushed 
pantingly  in  with  the  intelligence  that  the"  car- 
riage  had  come  for  Miss  Tresham,  and  the  driver 
said  would  sh^e  please  be  as  quick  as  possible,  for 
his  horses  were  impatient,  and  didn't  like  to 
stand. 

Miss  Tresham  did  not  keep  the  impatient 
horses,  or  their  more  impatient  driver,  waiting 
very  long.  Her  trunk  was  packed,  and  her  bon 


net  had  been  on  for  an  hour  at  least ;  so  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  say  good-by — which,  how- 
ever,  was  very  far  from  being  a  short  ceremony. 
There  was  Mrs.  Marks  and  Mr.  Marks,  and  Mr. 
Warwick  (it  was  immediately  after  dinner,  which 
accounted  for  the  presence  at  home  of  these  two 
gentlemen)  and  all  the  children,  and  most  of  the 
servants,  to  exchange  farewells  and  good  wishes 
with.  Mrs.  Marks  kissed  the  young  governess  as 
if  she  had  been  her  own  daughter,  and  bade  her 
take  care  of  herself  and  look  her  prettiest,  and 
enjoy  herself  her  best ;  Mr.  Marks  shook  hands 
heartily,  and  hoped  she  would  have  a  very  merry 
Christmas,  and  they  would  all  miss  her,  and  keep 
her  Christmas-gifts  till  she  came  back,  and  the 
children  pressed  round  tumultuously,  and  list- 
ened distractedly,  while  she  told  Mrs.  Marks 
that  if  she  would  look  in  the  top  drawer  of  her 
bureau  the  ne^tt  morning,  she  would  perhaps  find 
that  St.  Nicholas  had  visited  it ;  and  the  servants 
bobbed  up  and  down  in  the  background,  and 
thrust  forward  their  ebony  hands  with  many 
"  Christmas  gift,  missis  !  Wish  you  merry 
Christmas,  ma'am ! "  while  Mr.  Warwick  stood 
by,  and  looked  with  his  quiet  smile  at  the  whole 
of  it. 

"  I'll  take  you  to  the  carriage,  and  bid  you 
good-by  there,"  he  said,  when  Katharine  at  last 
turned  and  extended  her  hand  to  him.  "  You'll 
never  get  off,  at  this  rate.  Has  the  trunk  gone 
out  ?  " 

"  Done  strapped  on,  sir,"  said  Tom,  appearing 
at  the  open  door,  and  speaking  over  Judy's  yellow 
turban.  "  Done  strapped  on,  sir ;  and  John  says 
the  horses — " 

"  Tell  John  to  hold  his  tongue  about  the 
horses. — Miss  Tresham,  when  you  are  ready,  I 
am  at  your  service." 

"  I  am  ready  now,  Mr.  Warwick,"  said  Katha- 
rine ;  and  with  a  last  bright  glance  around,  and  a 
last  "  Good-by  all !  "  she  went  out  of  the  open 
door,  across  the  piazza,  and  down  the  front  walk, 
attended  by  Mr.  Warwick,  and  followed  by  all  the 
children  and  servants.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marks  went 
no  farther  than  the  piazza,  but  they  stood  there 
and  watched  the  departuVe.  "  If  ever  I  thought 
that  such  a  thing  would  be ! "  said  the  good  wom- 
an to  her  husband,  as  she  saw  Katharine  enter 
the  carriage,  and  bend  forward  over  the  closed 
door  to  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Warwick  and  give 
Nelly  a  last  kiss.  Then  a  touch  was  given  the  im- 
patient horses,  the  carriage  disappeared,  like  a 
glittering  vision,  round  a  turn  of  the  road,  and 
the  group  at  the  gate  returned  slowly  to  the 
house — all  excepting  Mr.  Warwick,  who  went 


on  to  town,  and,  although  it  was  Christmas  Eve, 
and  high  and  low,  and  rich  and  poor,  were  all 
alike  rejoicing  and  taking  a  holiday,  sat  himself 
down  to  his  grim  law-books,  and  seemed  to  find 
the  same  interest  in  them  that  he  found  there 
every  day. 

Meanwhile,  Katharine  was  driving  at  a  rapid 
and  easy  pace  over  the  country  road  that  led  past 
the  gates  of  Morton  House  on  to  Annesdale.  The 
short  December  afternoon  was  more  than  half 
gone,  the  shadows  were  long,  and  the  yellow  sun- 
shine streamed  with  bright  but  sad  pathos  over 
the  distant  hills  and  leafless  woods,  as  the  car- 
riage swept  along ;  the  driver  and  footman  talked 
on  the  box,  and  the  girl  inside,  leaning  back  on 
the  soft  cushions  and  watching  the  fields  and 
clumps  of  trees  fly  past,  asked  herself  if  she  was 
awake  or  dreaming,  if  she  would  really  arrive  at 
Annesdale  after  a  while,  or  if  she  would  rouse 
up  in  her  own  room  in  Mr.  Marks's  house. 

On  the  whole,  she  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
she  was  awake,  when  the  Annesdale  gates  flew 
open  at  the  approach  of  the  carriage,  and,  sweep- 
ing round  the  carefully-kept  circle,  Katharine 
found  herself  before  a  handsome  house  of  soft 
gray  color,  built  in  the  Italian  style,  and  spread- 
ing over  a  great  deal  of  space,  with  large  wing 
and  many  piazzas.  The  doors  of  the  hall  were 
wide  open,  and  three  or  four  gentlemen  were 
standing  in  the  front  portico.  One  of  them 
came  forward  when  the  carriage  stopped,  and, 
putting  aside  the  footman,  began  opening  the 
door  himself.  He  was  a  frank,  pleasant-looking 
person,  whom  Katharine  recognized  as  Mr. 
French.  "  I  hope  you  have  not  found  it  cold, 
Miss  Tresham,"  he  said,  as,  after  fumbling  at  the 
handle  for  some  time,  he  at  last  wrenched  open 
the  door.  "  They  ought  to  have  put  the  win- 
dows up  to  protect  you  better.  Let  me  bid  you 
welcome  to  Annesdale.  I  hope  you  will  have  a 
merry  Christmas  with  us.  Did  you  ever  spend 
Christmas  in  the  country  before  ?  " 

His  voice  and  his  smile  were  both  very  genial. 
Katharine  felt  glad  that  her  first  welcome  had 
been  from  him,  instead  of  from  her  formal  host 
ess.  It  seemed  somehow  to  promise  better,  to  be 
a  better  omen  of  that  merry  Christmas  which 
everybody  just  then  was  wishing  everybody  else. 
She  answered  him,  as  they  went  up  the  steps  to- 
gether, and,  when  they  entered  the  door,  the  first 
thing  that  met  her  eye  was  the  greeting — 

MERRY   CHRISTMAS! 
in  enormous  letters  of  evergreen  fronting  the  en- 


76 


MORTON   EOUSE. 


trance,  and  running  along  the  gallery  that  was 
part  of  the  noble  winding  staircase  which  swept 
•round  the  large  octagon  hall.  On  every  side  of 
this  hall  swung  heavy  garlands  in  which  the  deep 
glossy  green  of  a  dozen  different  perennials  con- 
trasted with  the  crimson  berries  of  the  holly  and 
the  glistening  pearls  of  the  mistletoe.  Every 
picture  gazed  from  a  frame  elaborately  decked ; 
and  the  large  chandelier  that  swung  in  mid-space 
looked  like  a  massive  hanging  basket,  with  its 
many  wreaths  and  long  drooping  sprays  of  ivy. 

"  How  beautiful ! "  said  Katharine,  standing 
still  to  admire.  "  How  very  beautiful ! " 

"  Yes,  it's  pretty,"  said  Mr.  French,  smiling. 
"  But  wait  until  you  see  the  drawing-rooms.  The 
hall  was  rather  slighted  this  year,  and — Ah, 
here's  Mrs.  Annesley." 

He  broke  off  thus,  as  a  door  on  one  side 
opened,  and  two  ladies  came  out  One  was  a 
young  and  tolerably  pretty  girl,  who  ran  forward 
and  button-holed  Mr.  French  without  ceremony, 
while  Mrs.  Annesley  welcomed  Katharine  with 
more  cordiality  than  the  latter  had  expected. 

"  Have  you  seen  Spitfire  ?  Oh,  Mr.  French, 
do  tell  me  if  you  have  seen  Spitfire  ?  "  cried  the 
first,  in  a  tone  of  deep  distress. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Tresham,  I  am  very  glad  to 
welcome  you  to  Annesdale,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley, 
with  pleasant  courtesy. 

"  I  am  sure  that  some  of  your  horrid  hounds 
have  got  hold  of  him ! "  cried  the  anxious  in- 
quirer. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  were  detained,  and  must 
have  found  it  cold,-'  said  Mrs.  Annesley. 

Katharine  was  rather  confused  between  the 
two ;  but  she  managed  to  leave  the  Spitfire  re- 
plies to  Mr.  French,  and  assure  Mrs.  Annesley 
that  she  had  not  been  detained,  that  she  was  not 
cold,  and,  that  she  hoped  she  had  arrived  in  time 
for  dinner — it  having  been  understood  that  she 
should  dine  at  Annesdale  on  Christmas  Eve. 

u  In  very  good  time-,"  answered  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley. "  It  has  not  been  ten  minutes  since  the 
ladies  went  up-stairs  to  dress.  These  holiday 
times  the  servants  are  entirely  upset,"  she  added, 
"  and,  with  all  my  efforts,  I  cannot  get  dinner  be- 
fore five  o'clock.  It  is  not  so  much  fashion  as 
necessity  which  decides  my  hours.  Will  you  go 
to  your  room  now  ? — Maggie,  I  suppose  you  will 
come  when  yon  find  your  dogt1* 

"  I  am  just  going  with  Mr.  French  to  look  for 
him,"  answered  the  young  lady,  to  whom  this 
last  question  had  been  addressed.  "  I  don't  trust 
a  word  these  miserable  servants  say,  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley Tbey  all  have  a  spite  against  Spitfire,  and  I 


believe  they  would  be  glad  to  see  those  hateful 
hounds  worry  him  to  death.  I'll  be  up-stairs 
when  I  find  him,  but  not  before." 

She  walked  out  of  the  front  door,  followed  by 
Mr.  French,  while  Mrs.  Annesley  drew  Katharine 
toward  the  staircase.  "  This  way,  my  dear,"  she 
said,  quietly.  "That  is  Miss  Lester,"  she  went 
on,  as  they  mounted  the  steps  together.  "  She  is 
a  nice  girl,  but  rather  spoiled,  and  quite  eccen- 
tric. We  can  hardly  wonder,  though,  for  she  is  a 
great  heiress,  and  an  only  child,  so — here — this 
is  your  room." 

It  was  a  charming  apartment,  large  and  airy, 
with  deep,  broad  windows  looking  to  the  south, 
two  canopied  and  curtained  beds,  and  richly- 
carved  rosewood  furniture.  A  bright  fire  was 
burning  on  the  hearth,  the  toilet-table  was  glit- 
tering with  crystal  essence-bottles  and  the  like, 
while  two  maids  stood  before  it,  one  engaged  in 
holding  and  the  other  in  plaiting  a  long  braid  of 
rich,  red  hair.  "  This  is  Miss  Tresham,  Becky," 
said  Mrs.  Annesley,  addressing  the  former,  who 
at  once  dropped  a  deep  courtesy.  "Is  every 
thing  in  order  ?  " 

"  Yes'm,"  said  Becky,  staring  with  all  her 
might  at  the  new-comer. 

"  Then,  Miss  Tresham,  I  trust  you  will  be 
comfortable,  and  I  will  leave  you  to  your  toilet. 
I  hope,  by-the-way,  you  don't  object  to  sharing 
your  room.  The  house  is  so  crowded,  that  I  am 
obliged  to  quarter  Miss  Lester  and  yourself  to- 
gether, as  you  perceive.  You  don't  mind  it  ?  I 
am  so  glad ;  for  many  persons  do,  and  in  that 
case  a  hostess  is  rather  embarrassed.  Dinner 
at  five. — Becky,  be  sure  you  attend  to  Miss 
Tresham  well." 

"  Won't  you  take  a  seat,  ma'am  ? "  said 
Becky,  wheeling  a  chair  to  the  fire,  after  her 
mistress  had  left  the  room.  And,  as  Katharine 
took  the  seat,  she  knelt  down  on  the  hearth-rug 
and  began  unlacing  her  shoes. 

"  Never  mind  that,"  said  Miss  Tresham,  smil- 
ing. "  Don't  let  me  take  you  from  your  work." 

"  Mistiss  told  me  I  was  to  wait  on  you,"  said 
Becky,  looking  up  from  the  shoes.  "  That's  my 
business,  ma'tim,  as  long  as  you  stays  here." 

"  Indeed !  I  hope  we  shall  get  on  well  to- 
gether, then.  And  does  that  girl  wait  on  Miss 
Lester  ?  " 

"  I  belongsito  Miss  Lester,"  said  the  girl  in- 
dicated. "  1'se  waited  on  her  all  my  life. — 
Becky,  where'd  you  put  the  curling-tongs?" 

"  You'll  find  'em  behind  the  looking-glass," 
said  Becky. — Then  she  glanced  up  at  Katharine, 
and  added,  with  a  negro's  honest  admiration. 


MERRY   CHRISTMAS! 


77 


"  You're     the    prettiest    lady    I've    seen    yet, 
ma  am." 

"Hush!"  said  the  pretty  lady,  laughing. 
"  You  must  not  flatter  me,  or  we  shall  not  get 
on  at  all.  If  you  want  to  begin  your  duties,  you 
may  take  these  keys  and  open  my  trunk.  I  must 
dress  as  soon  as  I  get  warm." 

Before  the  process  of  getting  warm  was  fin- 
ished, or  the  process  of  dressing  had  begun,  the 
door  opened,  and  the  young  lady  whom  Katha- 
rine had  seen  below  entered  the  room,  followed 
by  a  shaggy  little  Scotch  terrier,  who  inconti- 
nently rushed  at  Miss  Tresham,  with  a  vicious 
snarl. 

"  Spitfire,  Spitfire  ! — behave  yourself,  sir ! " 
cried  his  mistress,  with  a  stamp  of  the  foot,  which 
Spitfire  minded  about  as  much  as  if  she  had  bade 
him  go  on.  "  Don't  be  afraid  of  him,"  she  said 
to  Katharine,  as  Spitfire  danced  round  and 
round,  barking  vehemently.  "  He  is  the  best 
fellow  you  ever  saw,  and  he  wouldn't  bite  you 
for  the  world." 

"  I  don't  trust  him,  ma'am ! "  cried  Becky, 
who  had  retreated  into  a  corner  and  was  valiant- 
ly defending  herself  with  Katharine's  shoes, 
while  Spitfire,  who  had  deserted  Miss  Tresham, 
devoted  his  energies  entirely  to  her.  "  Oh, 
ma'am,  please  call  him  away !  Oh,  Lord,  he's 
sure  to  bite  me ! — Get  off,  sir ! — get  off ! " 

"  Hush,  you  silly  thing ! "  cried  Miss  Lester, 
with  another  stamp  of  her  foot,  which  Becky 
obeyed  better  than  Spitfire  had  done.  "  Come 
here  to  me,  pet — come  here. — Cynthy,  catch  him 
and  make  him  stop." 

Cynthy  put  down  the  curling-tongs  and  made 
a  lunge  at  Spitfire,  who  rewarded  her  exertions 
by  turning  his  snapping  and  snarling  against 
her.  Katharine  fully  expected  to  see  the  maid 
badly  bitten ;  but  it  seemed  that  Spitfire's  fury 
was,  after  all,  mere  sound.  He  submitted  to  be 
captured,  and,  with  a  last  futile  bark  at  Becky, 
lay  down  on  the  hearth-rug  and  growled  to  him- 
self. 

"  There,  now  ! — are  you  not  ashamed  of  your- 
self?" said  his  mistress,  addressing  him  in  an 
expostulating  tone. — "  Don't  you  ever  be  foolish 
enough  to  threaten  him  with  any  thing  again," 
added  she,  turning  severely  to  Becky.  "  If  you 
do,  he  certainly  will  bite  you  ;  for  nothing  makes 
him  so  angry  as  to  be  threatened. — Miss  Tresh- 
am, since  we  ar«  to  be  room-mates,  we  might  as 
well  make  friends.  What  do  you  think  of  Spit- 
fire ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is  very  well  named,"  said  Kath- 
uine,  who  had  shared  the  panic. 
0 


"  Cousin  Tom  named  him,"  said  the  young 
lady.  "  He  thought  it  was  an  appropriate  name, 
and  I  kept  it  because  it  was  unusual.  In  fact, 
Spitfire  is  a  very  unusual  dog." 

"  In  ill-nature,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  No,  in  sense.  Look  how  intelligent  his  eyea 
are — I  really  believe  he  could  talk  if  he  chosa. 
Then  I  IHce  him  all  the  better  for  his  temper — it 
is  such  a  contrast  to  those  insipid  poodles  that 
most  girls  fancy.  I  have  a  bull-dog  at  home— 
a  great,  splendid  fellow,  named  Bulger — but  papa 
would  not  let  me  bring  him  along." 

Katharine  mentally  applauded  "  papa's  "  wis- 
dom as  she  looked  at  Spitfire  triumphantly  estab- 
lished on  the  hearth-rug,  and  thought  that  it 
might  have  been  her  unlucky  chance  to  have 
been  also  domiciled  with  a  great,  splendid  fellow 
of  a  bull-dog.  She  soon  found  that  her  new  ac- 
quaintance was  very  pleasant  and  very  easy  to 
get  on  with — a  little  spoiled,  perhaps,  as  Mrs. 
Annesley  had  said,  and  decidedly  a  little  eccen- 
tric, but  exceedingly  unaffected  and  good-natured. 
Contrasting  her  with  many  common  specimens 
of  the  genus,  young  lady,  Katharine  concluded 
that  she  was  fortunate  in  her  companion ;  and 
she  listened  with  amusement  while  Miss  Lester's 
tongue  ran  glibly  on,  now  to  the  maid,  now  to 
herself. 

"  Get  out  my  purple  silk,  Cynthy,  and  the 
ribbons  to  match.  Did  you  quill  the  point  lace 
in  the  neck,  as  I  told  you  ?  A  pair  of  satin 
boots,  while  you  are  in  the  trunk. — Miss  Tresh- 
am, did  you  ever  spend  Christmas  at  Annesdale 
before  ?  No  ?  Then  I  am  sure  you  will  be  de- 
lighted— every  thing  is  so  charming.  For  my 
part,  I  am  always  glad  to  get  away  from  home 
at  Christmas.  The  servants  have  holiday,  you 
know ;  and  there  is  so  much  trouble  about  get- 
ting any  thing  done.  They  spend  their  whole 
time  dancing  in  the  cabins ;  and  if  you  want  the 
fire  made  up,  even,  you  have  to  ring  half  a  dozen 
times  before  anybody  comes.  I  always  go  away 
from  home  Christmas  ;  and,  if  I  can,  I  always 
come  to  Annesdale.  Adela  and  I  went  to  school 
together.  Don't  you  like  her  very  much  ?  " 

She  stopped  after  this  question,  and  Katharine 
replied  that  she  had  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
Mrs.  French,  at  which  Miss  Lester's  face  ex- 
pressed  the  liveliest  surprise. 

"  Why,  I  thought  she  stayed  in  Lagrange  ft 
great  deal.  I  don't  live  in  Lagrange,  you  see.  I 
live  in  Apalatka.  But  you  know  Morton,  don't 
you  ? — and  oh,  isn't  he  nice  ?  " 

"  I  know  Mr.  Annesley,  and  I  think  hin>  very 
pleasant." 


78 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"He'i  delightful,  that's  what  he  is,"  said 
HIM  Lester,  a  little  indignantly.  "  Cousin  Tom 
LangJon,  and  Godfrey  Seymour,  and  Frank 
French,  and  a  dozen  more,  are  'pleasant,'  but 
Morton  is  simply  delightful  I  could  fall  in  love 
with  him,"  said  the  young  lady,  with  startling 
candor. 

"  Then,  why  don't  you  ?  "  asked  Katharine, 
who  began  to  think  that  her  new  acquaintance 
was  more  eccentric  than  she  had  at  first  sup- 
posed. 

"  Because  there  would  be  no  use  in  it,"  an- 
swered the  other,  with  a  sigh  of  frank  regret. 
"  Everybody  has  settled  that  he's  to  marry 
Irene  Vernon,  and  no  doubt  he  will,  after  a 
while.  She's  pretty  enough,  as  far  as  that  goes  ; 
but,  dear  me,  looks  are  not  every  thing — are  they, 
Spitfire  ? — Cynthy,  come  here  and  take  down  my 
hair.  I  positively  won't  be  dressed  for  dinner  at 
this  rate." 

With  the  efficient  aid  of  Becky,  Katharine's 
toilet  was  soon  completed,  and,  when  the  last 
touches  were  given,  fully  deserved  the  enthu- 
siastic compliments  of  the  maid.  .  "  You  looks 
as  pretty  as  a  picture,  ma'am,"  said  Becky, 
smoothing  down  the  dress  of  some  soft,  blue 
fabric,  that  was  cut  in  a  style  which  really  made 
the  girl  resemble  an  old  picture. 

"  If  you  only  had  your  hair  rolled  up  and 
powdered,  you'd  look  for  all  the  world  like  my 
great  grandmother ! "  cried  Miss  Lester,  turning 
round  and  much  inconveniencing  Cynthy,  who 
was  busy  fastening  the  body  of  the  purple  silk. 
"  Is  that  the  first  dinner-bell  ?  Good  gracious, 
Cynthy,  make  haste! — Here,  Becky,  come  and 
help  her. — Miss  Tresham,  would  you  mind  look- 
Ing  in  the  tray  of  that  trunk  and  handing  me  my 
jewelry-box  f  " 

In  the  midst  of  the  commotion  which  ensued, 
t  knock  at  the  door  passed  quite  unnoticed,  and, 
•fler  one  or  two  vain  repetitions,  they  all  started 
when  it  opened  and  Mrs.  French  appeared. 

"  Oh,  Adda,  you  are  just  in  time  1 "  cried 
Miss  Lester,  lifting  up  her  hands.  "  I'm  only 
half  dressed,  and  hurried  almost  to  death.  Do, 
there's  a  dear  1  come  and  help  Miss  Tresham  put 
these  ornaments  in  my  hair." 

"  Indeed,  I  have  not  time,  Maggie,"  said  A  de- 
la,  very  coolly.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  have  come 
to  carry  off  Miss  Tresham.  I  knew  that  of 
course  you  would  not  be  ready,  so  I  thought  I 
would  pilot  her  down-stairs. — I  am  Mrs.  French. 
You'll  let  me  introduce  myself,  won't  you  ? " 
she  said,  turning  and  offering  her  hand  to  Katha- 
rine. 


This  was  very  pleasant;  and  in  five  minutes 
Miss  Lester  was  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
Cynthy  and  Becky,  and  Katharine  was  going 
down-stairs  in  amicable  companionship  with 
Mrs.  French.  She  had  time  now  to  see  the 
grand  scale  on  which  Annesdale  was  built ;  to 
admire  the  hall  paved  in  black  and  white  maible, 
and  the  staircase  that  swept  round  and  round 
until  it  ended  in  an  observatory  on  the  roof. 
"  It  is  very  handsome,"  the  governess  thought  to 
herself;  but  she  was  of  the  Old  World,  and  had 
seen  too  many  noble  residences  to  be  impressed 
by  the  splendors  of  Annesdale.  "  On  the  whole, 
I  think  I  like  Morton  House  better.  It  is  not  so 
new." 

"  Our  party  is  not  very  large,"  Mrs.  French 
was  saying.  "  Not  more  than  thirty  people  in 
all,  and  more  gentlemen  than  ladies.  I  always 
like  for  them  to  be  in  the  majority.  This  way, 
Miss  Tresham — this  is  the  drawing-room." 

She  opened  the  door,  Katharine  entered,  and 
for  a  minute  was  quite  dazzled.  It  had  been  a 
long  time  since  she  had  mingled  in  society,  and 
even  under  ordinary  circumstances  this  large, 
richly-hued  room,  all  ablaze  with  wax-lights  and 
full  of  well-dressed  people,  would  have  made  a 
startling  contrast  to  the  gray  twilight  that  filled 
the  hall.  Then,  no  amount  of  social  usage  can 
make  it  a  pleasant  ordeal  to  face  a  number  of 
absolute  strangers  just  at  the  time  when  they 
have  nothing  to  do  and  little  to  talk  of,  and  so 
are  at  leisure  for  criticisms  and  remarks  more 
agreeable  to  themselves  than  to  the  object  there- 
of. Katharine's  courage  sank  down  to  zero,  but 
nobody  would  have  imagined  it.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  looked  so  stately  and  self-possessed — 
so  full  of  that  rare,  graceful  ease  which  only  the 
highest  social  culture  can  give — as  she  followed 
Mrs.  French  across  the  room,  that  everybody 
was  immediately  afflicted  with  an  inordinate 
curiosity  to  learn  who  she  was.  All  of  the 
Lagrange  people  knew  her  by  sight ;  but  most 
of  the  present  company  were  strangers  in  La- 
grange  ;  and  a  sort  of  thrill  of  inquiry  ran  round 
the  room.  "  What  a  splendid-looking  woman ! " 
said  the  gentlemen.  "  Dear  me,  what  an  elegant 
girl  I "  cried  the  ladies.  "  Who  is  she  ?  "  both 
parties  demanded  in  a  breath. 

When  it  was  known  who  she  was,  the  inter- 
est  decidedly  subsided.  A  governess  who  lived 
in  the  family  of  Mr.  Marks  at  Tallahoma,  was  by 
no  means  a  very  important  person  in  Lagrange 
estimation,  and  after  a  short  time  the  only  feel- 
ing that  remained  was  one  of  curiosity  to  know 
why  she  should  have  been  invited  to  join  the 


HE  STOOD  QUITE  SILENT,  WATCHING  THE  GRACEFUL  FIGURE  AND  FAIR  FACE. 

CHAP.  XV. 


MERRY   CHRISTMAS! 


79 


party.  Thanks  to  Katharine's  own  prudence, 
there  had  never  been  much  gossip  about  Mr.  An- 
nesley's  attentions  ;  and  although  some  few  peo- 
ple shrugged  their  shoulders  significantly,  and 
said  that  it  would  be  as  well  to  be  civil,  since 
no  one  could  tell  how  soon  Mr.  Marks's  governess 
might  be  transformed  into  the  mistress  of  An- 
nesdale,  the  majority  passed  the  matter  over  as 
a  whim  of  their  hostess,  and  thought  no  more  of 
it. 

The  young  host  was  standing  by  the  fire- 
place, talking  to  Mrs.  George  Raynor,  when  a 
gentleman  near  him  said,  "  Who  is  that  hand- 
some girl  who  has  just  come  in  with  your  sister, 
Annesley  ? "  And,  turning  quickly,  he  saw 
Katharine.  She  did  not  see  him,  for  to  her 
eyes  the  scene  was  one  confused  mingling  of 
light,  and  color,  and  strange  faces.  But  she  had 
not  been  sitting  down  more  than  a  minute  when 
a  well-known  voice  said  : 

"  Won't  you  speak  to  me,  Miss  Tresham,  and 
xet  me  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  here  ?  " 

She  glanced  quickly  round,  and  the  bright, 
handsome  face  she  knew  so  well  was  looking 
down  at  her.  With  a  smile,  her  hand  went  out 
to  meet  his. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Annesley,"  she  said.  "Of 
course,  I  know  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  being 
here.  You  must  believe  that  I  am  very  much 
obliged  for  the  pleasure." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  answered.  "  You 
need  not  think  that  I  have  any  share  in  the 
matter.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  am  delighted, 
that  I  am  happy  to  see  you  at  Annesdale,  but 
the  pleasure  became  twice  a  pleasure  when  my 
mother  asked  you,  without  the  slightest  knowl- 
edge on  my  part." 

Katharine  opened  her  eyes  a  little ;  and,  if 
it  had  been  anybody  but  Annesley  who  spoke, 
would  certainly  have  doubted  the  assertion. 
But,  before  she  had  time  to  reply,  Mrs.  French 
broke  in — Mrs.  French,  whose  ears  were  good, 
and  who  had  no  such  implicit  reliance  on  Mor- 
ton's promise  as  that  which  her  mother  had  ex- 
pressed. 

"  Miss  Tresham,  is  Morton  asking  you  to  help 
us  in  our  Christmas-Eve  arrangements?  He 
said  he  thought  perhaps  you  would." 

"  I  said  I  was  sure  you  would,"  said  Mor- 
ton. "  Adela  has  arranged  some  tableaux  and 
music  for  the  edification  of  our  friends ;  and  I 
felt  sure  you  would  aid,  if  need  be." 

"Morton  describes  very  badly,"  said  Mrs. 
French.  "  Some  tableaux  and  music  are  very  in- 
definite. In  the  first  place,  it  is  no  tableaux  at 


all,  but  only  a  little  scenic  effect ;  and,  in  the 
second  place,  we  have  arranged  the  musical  pro- 
gramme, with  the  exception  of  one  part.  We 
want  a  Christmas  anthem — solo.  Will  you  sing 
one  for  us  ?  " 

"  What  sort  of  an  anthem  ?  " 

"  Any  that  you  can  or  will  sing." 

"Would  the 'Gloria' from  Mozart's  Twelfth 
Mass  answer  ?  " 

"It  would  be  charming!  Will  you  sing 
that  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure — but — no.  I  cannot.  My 
music  is  not  here." 

"  I  will  send  for  it,"  said  Morton,  before  his 
sister  could  speak.  "  A  messenger  shall  go  in- 
stantly." 

He  started  up,  and  was  about  to  leave  the 
room,  when  Katharine  called  him  back.  "I 
must  send  a  message  to  Mrs.  Marks,"  she  said. 
"  She  would  not  know  where  to  find  the  music 
else.  Please  tell  the  servant  to  ask  her  to 
look—" 

"  Had  you  not  better  come  to  the  library 
and  write  a  note  ?  It  would  be  much  more  cer- 
tain." 

"  Don't  carry  Miss  Tresham  off,  Morton,"  said 
his  sister.  "  Dinner  will  be  ready  in  a  minute." 

"  I  won't  keep  her  a  minute,"  he  answered ; 
and,  without  giving  Katharine  any  option  in  the 
matter,  he  drew  her  hand  within  his  arm,  and  led 
her  from  the  room.  The  chandelier  was  lighted 
by  this  time,  and  the  hall  looked  brilliant  in  all 
its  guise  of  holly  and  mistletoe.  To  Katharine, 
it  suggested  a  large  mystic  temple ;  and  Miss 
Lester,  who  was  just  then  descending  the  stair- 
ca.-e,  might  have  passed  for  its  priestess,  in  her 
rich  purple  silk  and  pearl  ornaments.  She  stared 
a  little,  but  Morton  gave  her  no  time  to  speak ; 
he  led  his  companion  hastily  forward,  and  opened 
the  library-door. 

"  You  will  find  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  on  that 
table,"  he  said.  "  I  will  go  to  find  a  messenger, 
and  be  back  for  your  note  in  a  second." 

Almost  in  a  second  he  was  back,  and,  closing 
the  door  behind  him,  came  and  stood  by  the 
table,  while  Katharine  dashed  off  a  few  lines  to 
Mrs.  Marks. 

"  Tell  her  to  send  all  your  music,"  he  said. 
That  was  the  only  suggestion  he  made. 

He  stood  quite  silent,  watching  the  graceful 
figure  and  fair  face  that  made  such  a  pretty  pic- 
ture, seated  by  the  table  with  its  shaded  lamp, 
and  the  dark  book-lined  walls  behind.  It  looked 
so  home-like  to  see  her  there — there  under  his 
own  roof,  in  his  owe  especial  room — that  the 


MORTOX   IIOUSK. 


young  man  had  hard  work  to  keep  his  lips  sealed. 
But  in  that  Tery  spot  he  had  promised  his  mother 
not  to  speak  without  giving  her  warning,  and  he 
would  hold  fast  to  that  promise  through  any 
temptation.  When  Katharine  looked  up,  he  was 
gazing,  not  at  her,  but  at  the  St.  Cecilia  over  the 
mantel-piece,  and,  when  she  extended  her  note, 
he  took  it  and  put  it  into  his  pocket  "  I  will  de- 
liver it  to  the  messenger  as  soon  as  I  have  seen 
you  to  the  drawing-room,"  he  said.  "  I  had  bet- 
ter take  you  back  at  once,  or  Adela  will  be  impa- 
tient." 

Katharine  felt  sure  of  this,  and  rose  to  go ; 
but  at  the  door  he  stopped — stopped  as  if  he 
must  say  something,  however  little,  before  letting 
her  go. 

"  One  word,  Miss  Tresham,"  he  said,  hurried- 
ly. "  Yon  don't  know  how  very,  very  happy  it 
makes  me  to  see  you  here." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ST.    CECILIA. 

AFTER  dinner,  Miss  Tresham  was  sitting  alone 
in  a  corner  of  the  drawing-room.  But  let  no  one 
suppose  from  this  statement  that  she  was  feeling 
snubbed  or  neglected,  and,  consequently,  misan- 
thropical or  cynical,  in  even  the  least  degree. 
She  had  been  taken  in  to  dinner  by  Mr.  Langdon 
— the  "cousin  Tom  "  of  whom  Miss  Lester  made 
frequent  mention — and  she  had  found  him  ex- 
ceedingly pleasant,  while  he,  for  his  part,  had 
been  decidedly  charmed.  Nevertheless,  after 
dinner  he  drifted  away ;  but  there  were  others 
ready  to  fill  his  place,  and  if,  instead  of  being 
entertained,  Miss  Tresham  was  sitting  alone,  it 
was  as  much  a  voluntary  withdrawal  on  her  part, 
as  any  thing  else. 

In  fact,  the  young  governess  soon  found  that 
she  was  among,  but  not  of,  these  people,  who 
laughed  and  talked  in  Mrs.  Annesley's  drawing- 
room.  They  were  all  of  the  best  school  of  breed- 
ing, and,  meeting  her  on  neutral  ground,  they 
never  dreamed  of  showing  that,  under  other  cir- 
cumstances, they  would  not  have  considered 
her  an  equal.  Vulgar  incivility,  and  more  vul- 
gar patronage,  were  simply  impossible  to  them  ; 
and  when  they  accosted  her  there  was  no  shade 
of  manner  to  show  that  it  was  a  condescension 
on  their  parts,  and  an  honor  on  hers.  But  they 
had  their  world,  and  *he  had  hers.  They  knew 
each  other,  and  each  other's  friends  and  affairs, 
and  bad  a  hundred  topics  in  common  ;  while  she 


might  have  dropped  from  a  cloud,  or  been  trans. 
ported  from  the  Sandwich  Islands,  for  all  she 
knew  of  these  matters.  One  or  two  ladies  had 
tried  to  talk  to  her,  but  somehow  there  was  not 
much  to  be  said  on  either  side.  Did  she  like 
Lagrange  ? — had  she  lived  there  long  ? — did  she 
not  think  Annesdale  a  beautiful  place? — were 
not  the  rooms  prettily  decorated  ? — Adela  French 
had  exquisite  taste,  and  had  cut  out  all  the  let- 
ters herself.  Did  Miss  Tresham  like  German 
text? 

After  some  disjointed  efforts  of  this  descrip- 
tion, it  amused  Katharine  to  hear  the  same  per- 
son turn  to  a  group  of  her  friends  and  launch 
into  conversation  of  the  most  animated  kind. 
She  would  grow  eloquent  on  Laurie  Singleton's 
marriage,  and  who  his  wife  was,  and  what  her 
grandfather's  name  had  been,  and  in  what  de- 
gree they  were  related  to  the  Churchills,  and  how 
Judge  Churchill  had  sent  the  bride  a  diamond 
necklace,  and  how  elegant  were  the  dresses,  that 
had  been  ordered  direct  from  Paris.  "  After  all, 
it  is  no  wonder  that  these  people  find  it  difficult 
to  talk  to  me,"  thought  Katharine  to  herself.  Aa 
is  generally  the  case,  she  got  on  better  with  the 
gentlemen.  Even  the  ordinary  man  inhabits  a 
less  narrow  and  conventional  world  than  the  ordi- 
nary woman,  his  very  position  as  man  giving  him 
a  wider  field  of  knowledge  and  a  freer  scope  of 
thought.  Then,  few  men  are  not  stirred  into 
conversational  effort  by  a  fair  face  and  a  pair  of 
bright  eyes ;  and,  where  two  strangers  of  the 
same  sex  would  sit  and  stare  at  each  other,  two 
strangers  of  different  sexes  will  soon  find  topics 
on  which  to  grow  sociable.  "  The  governess  is 
really  charming,"  Mr.  Langdon  had  told  his 
friends ;  and  few  of  them  felt  disposed  to  doubt 
the  assertion.  But  still,  they  were  engrossed  with 
pretty  girls,  whom  they  knew  very  well,  and  to 
whom  it  was  no  effort  to  talk,  and  the  charm- 
ing governess,  by  degrees,  wandered  away  into 
the  corner  already  mentioned. 

There  she  sat,  like  the  historic  little  Jack 
Horner,  with  whom  we  are  all  acquainted  ;  but 
lacking  the  Christmas  pie  with  which  that  hero 
solaced  bis  retreat.  Instead,  she  opened  a  book 
of  engravings,  and  tried  to  appear  interested  in 
its  contents.  A  ripple  of  talk  was  sounding  all 
round  her,  a  pretty  dark-eyed  girl  was  singing  at 
the  piano,  a  glorious  fire  roared  on  the  hearth, 
the  wax-lights  burned  with  that  steady  lustre 
which  no  brilliancy  of  gas  will  ever  rival,  the 
pictures  gazed,  the  mirrors  gleamed  ont  of  green. 
wreathed  frames,  people  came  and  went  continu- 
ally, and  the  whole  bright  scene  was,  to  Katha- 


ST.   CECILIA. 


81 


rtne,  like  a  play— a  picture — something  scenic 
and  unreal,  but  yet  very  attractive.  She  liked  it 
better  than  her  book,  which  was  full  of  portraits 
of  dead-and-gone  beauties — as  if  the  earth  was 
not  as  rich  in  loveliness  now  as  ever,  or  as  if  any 
one  in  his  senses  would  give  one  face  where  life 
still  brightens  the  eye  and  colors  the  tints,  for 
all  the  cold  silent  beauty  that  ever  mocked  decay 
on  canvas.  "  There  is  no  one  here  half  as  pretty 
is  Miss  Vernon,"  thought  Katharine;  and,  as 
she  thought  it,  Miss  Vernon  crossed  the  room, 
and  came  up  to  her. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Miss  Tresham," 
she  said,  smiling.  "  I  have  been  watching  you 
for  some  time,  and  I  am  sure  you  were  thinking 
how  foolish  and  frivolous  we  all  are." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  was  thinking  how  pretty 
you  all  look,"  answered  Katharine,  smiling  in 
turn.  "  Why  should  I  think  you  foolish  or  friv- 
olous ?  It  is  only  people  of  very  superior  wis- 
dom who  can  afford  to  do  that  sort  of  thing,  and, 
for  my  part,  I  must  confess  I  always  rather 
doubt  their  sincerity.  You  may  be  sure  Dioge- 
nes would  never  have  been  able  to  make  a  suc- 
cess in  society,  or  else  he  would  not  have  taken 
up  his  residence  in  a  tub,  or  gone  about  with  a 
lantern  searching  for  what  he  could  easily  have 
found  by  God's  own  day-light." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  for  indeed  I 
think  there  is  more  good  in  the  world — even  in 
the  fashionable  world — than  cynics  give  it  credit 
for.  We  look  too  much  at  codes,  and  not  enough 
at  individuals — that  is  all." 

"  And  we  are  too  prone  to  judge  hastily  from 
the  outside,  to  decide  from  mere  appearances," 
said  Katharine,  making  a  personal  application 
of  her  truism,  and  thinking  how  little  she  had 
expected  to  find  this  young  beauty  so  full  of  the 
frank,  sweet  grace  of  true  womanhood. 

"  Adela  tells  me  that  you  are  going  to  sing  a 
Christmas  anthem  for  us,"  said  Miss  Vernon, 
changing  the  subject.  "  I  am  so  glad,  for  I  want 
to  hear  your  voice." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  hear  very  much." 

"  Will  I  not  ?  Then  Mr.  Annesley  has  cer- 
tainly lost  all  sense  of  truth.  If  you  will  excuse 
me,  however,  I  will  take  the  evidence  of  his 
word  until  I  have  that  of  my  own  ear.  When 
will  your  music  come  ?  " 

•'  Mr.  Annesley  sent  for  it  before  dinner,  and 
it  ought  to  be  here  now." 

"  Surely  yes — since  it  is  eight  o'clock.  But, 
no  doubt,  the  messenger  went  on  into  town,  and 
guns,  and  fire-crackers,  and  every  description  of 
noise,  reign  there  to-night.  No  creature  is  BO 


young  or  so  old,  so  careless  or  so  indh/erent.  as 
not  to  remember  and  rejoice  that  this  is  Christ- 
mas Eve." 

"  I  know  what  it  was  last  year,"  said  Katha- 
rine, with  a  slight  shrug.  "  I  never  saw  people 
throw  themselves  with  such  abandon  into  rejoi- 
cing. I  like  to  see  it ;  yet  I  cannot  help  won- 
dering how  many  have  any  remembrance  of  the 
cause  which  draws  it  forth." 

"  If  you  mean  devout  remembrance — thought 
of  Who  came  to-night,  and  why  He  came — I  am 
afraid  there  are  but  few.  But  still,  at  least  they 
do  not  forget  Him,  and  is  it  not  better  that  Christ- 
mas should  be  celebrated  thus,  than  passed  over 
in  cold  silence  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  thousand  times  better !  Don't  mis- 
take me  enough  to  suppose  that  I  think  other- 
wise. But  I  wish  the  two  could  be  united." 

"  Yes,  so  do  I,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  slightly 
sighing. 

It  was  just  at  this  moment  that  a  servant  en- 
tered the  room  with  a  large  parcel,  which  he  took 
to  Mrs.  French.  She  was  talking  eagerly,  and 
opened  it  without  thinking — whereupon  a  music- 
portfolio  tumbled  out. 

"  Oh,  it  is  Miss  Tresham's  music ! "  cried 
she ;  and,  while  the  gentlemen  picked  up  the 
scattered  sheets  that  strewed  the  carpet,  she 
carried  the  half-emptied  portfolio  over  to  its 
owner. 

"  Miss  Tresham,  your  music  is  come,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile.  "  And  you  must  really  ex- 
cuse me  for  opening  it.  I  was  not  thinking, 
and  Guy  handed  it  to  me  without  saying  a 
word.  Here  is  a  note — I  have  not  opened  that, 
too.  Do  look  and  see  if  the  '  Gloria '  is  all 
right." 

While  Katharine  was  looking  for  the  "  Glo- 
ria," and  failing  to  find  it,  Mr.  Langdon  came  up 
with  several  pieces  of  music  in  his  hand,  from 
one  of  which  he  was  humming  a  few  bars. 

"  Miss  Tresham,  do  you  sing  this  ?  "  he  cried. 
"  It  is  a  lovely  thing,  and  I  have  never  found 
any  young  lady  who  knew  it.  I  heard  Malibran 
sing  it  when  I  was  in  Europe.  Won't  you  sing 
it  for  me  now  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  heard  Malibran  sing  it  last, 
Mr.  Langdon. — Mrs.  French,  the  '  Gloria '  is  not 
here.  It  must — " 

"  Here  is  some  more  music,  Mrs.  French," 
said  a  gentleman,  coming  up. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Talcott. — Miss  Tresham, 
here  is  the  '  Gloria '  now.  Miss  Tresham,  Mr. 
Talcott.  I  introduce  this  gentleman  partly  be- 
cause he  is  worth  knowing,  and  partly  because  I 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


•ee  from  his  face  that  he  has  something  he  wants 
you  to  sing." 

Mr.  Talcott,  who  was  young  and  rather  dif- 
fident, bowed  and  blushed. 

"  If  Miss  Tresham  would  not  mind,"  he  said. 
"I  see  a  song  here — a  little  ballad — that  my 
mother  used  to  sing,  and  that  I  would  like  to 
hear." 

"Your  mother  is  not  half  so  terrifying  as 
Malibran,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  laughing.  "  I  am 
•ure  Miss  Tresham  won't  refuse." 

But  Miss  Tresham  did  refuse,  or  rather  Mrs. 
French  refused  for  her. 

"  I  won't  hear  of  such  a  thing,"  said  the  lat- 
ter. "  Miss  Tresham  can  sing  for  you  all  to- 
morrow ;  but  to-night  I  don't  want  anybody  to 
hear  her  voice  until  he  hears  it  at  twelve  o'clock. 
— Irene,  will  you  come  with  me  a  minute.  I 
want  to  consult  you  about — " 

AY  hat  was  not  audible. 

The  two  ladies  walked  away  talking,  while 
the  two  gentlemen  lingered  to  look  over  Miss 
Tresham's  music,  and  show  her  what  they  wanted 
her  to  sing  the  next  day. 

Katharine  had  the  rare  art  of  being  able  to 
make  herself  agreeable  to  several  people  at  once ; 
so  neither  of  them  felt  de  trap,  and  both  of  them 
were  so  well  entertained  that  they  felt  no  incli- 
nation to  change  their  quarters.-  In  fact,  they 
remained  so  long,  that  a  lady  on  the  other  side 
of  the  room  gave  it  as  her  decided  opinion  that 
Miss  Tresham  was  a  flirt. 

"  Look  how  she  keeps  both  those  men  pinned 
to  her  side  1 "  said  this  astute  observer.  "  I 
never  saw  a  girl  who  wasn't  a  flirt  succeed  in 
doing  that.  Of  course,  there's  nothing  in  keep- 
ing one  man,  for  the  poor  creature  may  be  in 
such  a  position  that  he  simply  can't  get  away. 
But,  when  there  are  two,  either  one  of  them  can 
go  at  any  time,  and,  if  they  stay,  it  is  certainly 
because  they  are  well  entertained." 

Hour  after  hour  the  night  slipped  away — gay 
talk,  laughter,  and  music,  made  it  speed  fast,  and 
few  of  these  heedless  people  remembered  that, 
while  they  jested,  the  minutes  rolled  on  to  the 
verge  of  the  great  Feast  of  the  Nativity.  Katha- 
rine alone  thought  of  the  mystical  sacrifice  which 
all  through  this  night  circles  the  world,  as,  wher- 
ever the  ancient  Church  has  planted  her  stand- 
ard, the  midnight-mass  is  offered,  the  altar  blazes 
with  starry  lights,  the  fragrant  incense  rises,  the 
glad  voices  break  forth,  and  with  their  triumph- 
ant strains  echo  those  who  sung,  eighteen  hun- 
dred years  ago,  to  the  shepherds  on  the  plains 
9f  Judea.  She  alone  thought  of  the  crowded 


sanctuaries,  and  yearned  to  make  one  of  th 
happy  multitudes  who,  like  the  Magi  of  old,  bent 
before  their  hidden  Lord.  But  something  whis- 
pered "  Peace ! "  She  stepped  to  one  of  the 
windows,  and  drew  back  the  curtains.  The 
night  was  clear  starlight,  and  the  great  dome 
of  heaven  seemed  fairly  quivering  with  radiance 
— fairly  ablaze  with  the  splendor  of  myriad  con- 
stellations set  on  a  field  of  deepest  steel-blue.  In 
the  east,  one  great  planet  glowed  like  a  lesser 
moon.  All  the  frosty  night  lay  sparkling  and 
still  before  her,  but  she  knew  that,  over  yonder, 
Tallahoma  was  ringing  with  merry  uproar,  and 
that,  beyond  Tallahoma,  towns,  and  cities,  and 
villages,  echoed  the  same  mirth. 

As  she  turned  her  gaze  to  a  hill  on  her  left, 
a  broad  red  glow  met  her  eyes — the  light  from 
the  negro-cabins,  in  which  was  seen  the  shifting 
of  many  forms,  and  from  which,  if  the  window 
had  been  lifted,  she  could  have  heard  the  well- 
loved  sound  of  the  fiddle  and  the  banjo,  and  the 
sound  of  dancing  feet.  And  it  was  all  because 
of  Bethlehem  that  for  a  short  space  the  world 
forgot  its  feverish  strife,  and  lapsed  into  these 
childlike  pleasures  1  0  Christian  heart,  rejoice 
and  take  hope  !  Better  to  honor  ignorantly  than 
not  to  honor  at  all,  and,  while  you  gaze  forth  sigh- 
ing, wider  and  wider  spreads  the  light  of  that  star 
which  once  shone  above  the  Child  of  Nazareth. 

While  she  was  still  at  the  window,  and  Mr. 
Taleott  still  talked  unheeded  commonplaces,  there 
was  a  stir  in  the  room  which  attracted  her  atten- 
tion. The  door  opened,  and  a  servant  entered 
carrying  an  enormous  silver  bowl  filled  with  egg- 
nog,  made  after  a  receipt  which  was  the  secret  of 
certain  Southern  households  under  the  old  regime. 
Another  followed  with  a  salver,  bearing  glittering 
goblets  and  baskets  heaped  with  cake  of  every 
order  and  degree.  These  refreshments  were  the 
regulation  "  Christmas  cheer,"  and  thirty,  twen- 
ty, nay,  ten  years  ago,  Christmas  Eve  would 
scarcely  have  seemed  Christmas  Eve  if  they  had 
been  lacking.  After  the  bowl  was  deposited  in 
state  on  the  centre-table,  the  bearer  turned  and 
addressed  his  young  master,  who  was  standing 
by. 

"  The  Kris-Kingles  is  out  here,  Mas'r  Mor- 
ton, and  they  heard  as  how  some  of  the  ladies 
said  they  would  like  to  see  'em." 

"/said  sot"  cried  Miss  Lester,  starting  from 
a  sofa,  where  she  had  been  tete-d-tete  with  an  irre- 
sistible-looking gentleman — 'that  is,  a  gentleman 
who  thought  himself  irresistible — "  /said  so,  Mr. 
Annesley.  Do  let  them  come  in  !  I  am  so  fond 
of  Kris-Kingles ! " 


ST.  CECILIA. 


"  Certainly,  Miss  Maggie,"  said  Morton,  laugh- 
ing. Then  to  the  servant :  "  Tell  them  they  may 
come  in,  Victor." 

Victor  said  "  Yes,  sir,"  and,  apparently  much 
gratified,  retired  with  his  grinning  associate. 

After  a  short  interval,  which  the  company  in 
the  drawing-room  devoted  to  the  egg-nog,  there 
was  a  shuffling  of  many  feet  outside  the  door,  a 
subdued  tittering,  a  touch  or  two  of  the  strings 
of  a  banjo,  then  a  chorus  of  voices  broke  into 
the  wild  refrain  of  some  negro-ditty,  and,  when 
the  door  was  thrown  open,  the  redoubtable  Kris- 
Kingles — the  mingled  terror  and  fascination  of 
every  Southern  child — appeared  drawn  up  in  the 
hall. 

To  Katharine  alone  it  was  a  novel  sight,  the 
fantastically-dressed  and  masked  group  in  the 
foreground,  and  the  dusky  faces,  beaming  with 
pride  and  delight,  that  made  a  semicircle  round 
the  wall,  and  peered  in  at  the  open  door. 

"  What  are  they  for  ?  what  do  they  do  ?  "  she 
asked  of  Miss  Lester,  who  chanced  to  be  stand- 
ing by  her. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  know  about  Kris-Kingles  ?  " 
cried  that  young  lady,  with  surprise.  "  Why,  on 
Christmas  Eve  some  of  the  negroes  always  dress 
up  in  this  way,  and  go  round  to  all  the  cabins, 
and  sometimes  scare  the  others  nearly  to  death. 
I  can  remember  when  I  was  a  child  I  used  to  be 
awfully  afraid  of  them.  When  they  come  in  the 
house  this  way,  it  is  for  Christmas-gifts.  I  wish 
they  could  dance  for  you — you  would  like  to  see 
that. — Mr.  Annesley,  would  it  hurt  the  floor  very 
much  if  they  danced  one  dance  for  us  ?  Miss 
Tresham  never  saw  any  Kris-Kingles  before." 

"  It  would  not  hurt  it  at  all,"  said  Morton. 
"  Boys,  give  us  a  dance  before  you  go." 

The  "  Kris-Kingles  "  were  not  at  all  bashful, 
and  needed  no  second  invitation.  In  a  minute, 
the  measure  of  the  music  changed,  and,  still  ac- 
companying it  with  their  voices,  they  broke  into 
a  wild,  uncouth  dance,  impossible  to  imagine, 
and  equally  impossible  to  describe. 

"  I  don't  wonder  children  are  afraid  of  them," 
thought  Katharine,  as  she  watched  the  hideous 
pasteboard  masks  bending  backward  and  for- 
ward, the  agile  feet  that  kept  such  well-marked 
time,  and  the  fantastic  figures  threading  in  and 
out  of  what  seemed  inextricable  mazes.  Some 
of  the  steps  were  most  remarkable,  and  various 
double-shuffles  and  pigeon-wings  elicited  the 
liveliest  applause  from  the  audience.  But  the 
performance  was  soon  over. 

"  Dat's  'nuff,  boys,"  said  the  leader,  coming 
to  a  pause.  "  Don't  let  the  white  folks  git  tired 


of  you.  Make  your  bes'  bow  now,  and  tell  de 
ladies  and  gentlemen  you  wishes  'em  a  merry 
Christmas  and  a  happy  New-Year." 

"  Merry  Christmas  and  happy  New- Year  to 
you  all !  "  echoed  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  afore- 
said ;  and  most  of  them  went  out  into  the  hall 
to  bestow  that  Christmas-gift  which  the  Kris- 
Kingles  had  delicately  refrained  from  asking. 
After  this,  the  gay  pageant  filed  out,  and  went 
its  way  over  the  hill  to  the  quarters,  the  united 
voices  swelling  into  fuller  song  as  they  receded, 
and  waking  all  the  echoes  of  the  silent  night. 

"  It  is  eleven  o'clock,"  said  Mrs.  French,  as 
she  went  back  into  the  drawing-room,  where  Mrs. 
Annesley  and  a  few  elderly  ladies  had  the  fire  all 
to  themselves.  "  It  is  time  to  arrange  our  tableaux, 
as  Morton  calls  them. — Irene,  Maggie,  Flora — all 
of  you — come  !  " 

Most  of  the  young  ladies  rose  at  this  sum- 
mons, and  left  the  room.  The  gentlemen  fell 
into  knots,  and  talked  principally  to  each  other, 
during  the  half-hour  which  followed.  Morton 
snatched  a  few  minutes  with  Katharine  ;  but  his 
mother  soon  managed  to  call  him  away.  At  the 
end  of  the  half-hour,  a  messenger  came  from 
Mrs.  French  for  Miss  Tresham.  At  a  quarter  to 
twelve,  a  servant  entered,  and  put  out  all  the 
lights.  The  hush  of  the  next  fifteen  minutes  was 
very  impressive.  Such  an  idea  had  never  entered 
Adela  French's  head  ;  but  to  more  than  one  pres- 
ent unconsciously  solemn  thoughts  came,  and 
this  darkness  seemed  to  typify  the  shadow  which 
rested  over  the  world  before  the  blessed  light  of 
Christmas  dawned.  In  the  midst  of  profound 
silence,  the  clocks  began  to  strike  twelve.  At 
the  first  stroke,  the  folding-doors  which  divided 
the  two  drawing-rooms,  and  which  had  been 
rigidly  closed  all  evening,  moved  noiselessly 
apart ;  into  the  darkness  flashed  a  dazzling 
flood  of  light,  a  scene  so  brilliant  that  it  almost 
blinded  the  vision,  and  a  chorus  of  silvery  voices, 
breaking  into  the  "  glad  tidings  of  great  joy." 

Not  being  very  well  used  to  scenic  effects,  the 
spectators  held  their  breath  in  astonished  admi- 
ration. The  room  into  which  they  gazed  was 
wreathed  with  garlands,  and  blazing  with  lights 
until  it  lost  its  semblance  of  a  room,  and  looked 
rather  like  some  enchanted  palace.  At  the  far- 
ther end,  an  arch  of  green  was  thrown,  and 
above,  in  illuminated  letters,  ran  the  inscrip- 
tion, "Unto  you  is  born  this  day  a  Saviour." 
Under  the  centre  of  this  arch  stood  the  Christ- 
mas-tree, glittering  from  the  lowest  limb  to  the 
highest  summit  with  countless  tapers  and  colored 
lights.  Behind  was  a  stage,  arranged  in  careful 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


perspective.  Oa/.ing  from  the  darkened  room, 
the  lull  glory  of  the  abounding  radiunce  seemed 
to  centre  here,  giving  au  effect  beyond  descrip- 
tion to  the  figures  upon  it.  In  the  foreground 
was  an  Oriental  group — the  Judean  shepherds, 
as  they  watched  their  flocks— while  beyond  and 
around  were  slender  forms  clad  in  pure  white, 
whose  Toices  rose  in  one  united  chorus  as  they 
•ang  an  anthem  exultant  enough  to  tell  the 
world  Who  had  entered  it  on  that  December 
night. 

As  the  chorus  died  away,  the  tones  of  a  cabi- 
net-organ fell  on  the  car,  and  in  the  midst  of  a 
hush,  so  deep  that  it  could  almost  be  felt,  one 
pure,  liquid  voice  rose  and  soared  aloft  in  the 
eublime  "Gloria"  of  Mozart.  In  all  the  great 
world  of  tones,  there  is  hardly  a  strain  which, 
for  triumphant  majesty  and  noble  worship,  can 
equal  this.  There  is  scarcely  more  than  an  alloy 
of  earth  and  earth's  supplication  in  it.  We  for- 
get that  we  are  still  "  poor  banished  children  of 
Eve,"  that  we  are  yet  "  weeping  and  mourning  in 
this  valley  of  tears ; "  we  catch  the  spirit  of  the 
angelic  hosts,  and  our  hearts  are  borne  upward 
by  the  tones  in  which  the  master's  genius  and 
devotion  live  forever.  "  Gloria  in  excelsis  Deo  ! " 
sang  the  ineffable  sweetness  of  that  silver  voice, 
and  few  were  so  cold  or  so  careless  as  not  to 
echo  the  cry.  In  the  breathless  silence,  every 
word  of  the  grand  old  Latin  was  audible,  and 
every  word  stirred  those  listening  hearts.  How 
full  of  glorious  triumph  rang  the  voice  in  the 
44  Domine  Deus !  Agnus  Dei !  Filius  Patris  !  " 
IIow  it  seemed  smote  with  a  sudden  remem- 
brance of  humanity,  a  sudden  yearning  sense  of 
need  in  the  "  Qui  tollis  peccata  mundi !  mise- 
rere nobis ! "  How  grandly  it  rose  again  to 
the  very  gates  of  heaven  in  the  "Quoniam  tu 
solus  Sanctus ! "  and,  after  one  great  burst  of 
inspired  praise,  sunk  at  last  into  silence. 

When  the  solo  ended,  people  remembered 
where  they  were,  and,  turning,  stared  at  each 
other.  Who  was  it  ?  What  voice  had  carried 
them  so  far  out  of  themselves,  and  out  of  the 
world  in  which  they  lived — the  smooth,  conven- 
tional, easy  world,  in  which  Christmas  was  only 
a  pleasant  occasion  of  friendly  meeting  and  con- 
vivial sport  ?  All  these  lights  and  wreaths,  this 
tableau  arrangement,  and  chorus  of  pretty  girls, 
were  a  very  agreeable  entertainment  to  the  eye ; 
but  here  —  here  was  something  which  seized 
them  unawares,  and,  wrenching  them  out  of 
their  ordinary  life,  made  them  realize  what  it 
was  they  had  net  to  celebrate,  forcing  upon 
thoughts  which  to  the  common  worldly 


mind  are  any  thing  but  agreeable.  It  was  the 
greatest  proof  of  Katharine's  triumph  that  her 
earnestness  had  so  far  communicated  itself  to 
them  that  they  thought  of  her  and  her  voice 
only  as  a  secondary  consideration. 

"  How  beautiful !  "  they  cried,  when  it  was 
over ;  but  they  waited  until  it  was  over  to  do  so 
There  was  no  time  to  say  much,  for  the  chorus 
broke  into  the  noble  strains  of  Milton's  "  Hymn 
on  the  Nativity,"  and  the  last  verse  was  still 
echoing  when  the  folding-doors  closed  on  the 
scene. 

The  company  found  that,  while  they  were  en- 
grossed, servants  had  entered  and  relighted  the 
candles ;  so  the  drawing-room  looked  quite  like 
itself  when  they  turned  round — only  very,  very 
commonplace,  after  that  glowing  world  of  sight 
and  sound.  Mrs.  Annesley  was  immediately 
overwhelmed  with  congratulations,  and  soon,  to 
her  great  annoyance,  beset  with  inquiries,  con- 
cerning the  singer  of  the  "  Gloria."  Good  Heav- 
ens !  what  a  beautiful  voice  !  Was  it  really  that 
girl  who  is  said  to  be  a  governess  in  Tallahoma  ? 
Where  could  she  possibly  have  learned  to  sing 
so  divinely  ? 

"  For  all  we  know,  she  may  have  been  an 
opera-singer  before  she  came  to  Laprange,"  said 
Mrs.  Annesley,  striving  hard  to  conceal  her  vexa- 
tion, and  to  speak  in  a  careless  tone.  "  Adela 
was  very  anxious  to  secure  her  voice,  which  is, 
as  you  say,  really  beautiful ;  so  I  asked  her  here. 
But  I  should  not  like  for  any  one  to  think  that 
she  is  a  friend  of  ours." 

"  By  George !  who  would  have  thought  the 
pretty  governess  could  sing  like  that  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Langdon  to  Morton  Annesley 

To  which  Morton  replied,  stiffly  enough,  that 
he  always  knew  Miss  Tresham  had  an  exquisite 
voice,  for  he  had  often  heard  her  sing. 

"It  did  not  astonish  me  at  all,"  he  said. 
"  The  pretty  governess ! "  he  repeated  to  him- 
self, as  he  walked  ofl'.  "  And  that  is  the  way 
they  talk  of  her!  I  wonder  how  I  shall  ever 
contrive  to  hold  my  tongue  during  this  week 
which  is  to  come?  " 

When  the  folding  -  doors  were  once  more 
opened,  and  the  company  were  bidden  to  ad- 
mire and  inspect  the  Christmas-tree,  wbich  was 
loaded  with  gifts,  Annesley  went  up  to  Katha- 
rine and  held  otat  his  hand,  without  in  the  least 
regarding  the  people  standing  near. 

"  Let  me  thank  you  for  a  pleasure  which  I 
shall  always  remember,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
given  me  my  best  Christmas-gift.  I  shall  nevei 
again  think  of  St.  Cecilia  without  thinking  o/ 


THE   APPLE   OF   DISCORD. 


85 


yov.  Don't  Catholics  always  have  a  patron- 
eaint  ?  She  ought  to  be  yours." 

It  was  verging  close  upon  two  o'clock  when 
the  party  finally  separated,  and  Katharine  went 
up  to  her  chamber.  On  opening  the  door,  she 
found  that  Miss  Lester  had  preceded  her,  and 
was  sitting  on  the  hearth-rug,  engaged  in  petting 
and  soothing  Spitfire. 

"  Cynthy  left  him  up  here  by  himself  all  the 
evening,"  said  the  young  lady,  indignantly,  when 
Miss  Tresham  appeared.  "  I  can't  imagine  what 
she  meant  by  it.  Of  course,  she  knew  that  she 
ought  to  have  brought  him  down  to  the  drawing- 
room  to  me.  The  poor  fellow  can't  bear  to  be 
left  alone.  Miss  Tresham,  wasn't  it  all  charm- 
ing ?  There's  no  place  like  Annesdale,  I  think. 
The  Christmas-tree  was  beautiful,  and  all  the 
presents  so  elegant !  Oh,  dear !  " — with  a  tre- 
mendous yawn — "  I  am  terribly  sleepy.  I  am 
sure  I  shall  not  get  up  till  dinner  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   APPLE   OF   DISCORD. 

Miss  LESTER  fulfilled  her  own  prophecy,  and 
remained  in  bed  the  better  part  of  the  next 
morning ;  but  Katharine  rose  at  a  reasonable 
hour,  and  went  below.  As  she  paused  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  debating  in  her  own  mind 
which  one  of  the  numerous  doors  around  was 
likely  to  lead  into  the  breakfast-room,  a  step 
sounded  behind  her,  and  a  pleasant  voice  said  : 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Tresham.  Merry  Christ- 
mas to  you !  " 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Vernon,"  answered 
Katharine,  turning  to  face  the  speaker,  who 
had  come  down  the  staircase  in  her  rear,  and 
was  close  at  hand.  "  Merry  Christmas  to  you  ! 
Is  it  not  a  beautiful  day  ?  " 

"  Delightful ! "  said  Miss  Vernon.  "  Let  us 
go  to  the  front  door,  and  look  at  it." 

To  the  front  door  they  went,  accordingly,  and 
met  the  full  brilliance  of  the  sparkling  winter 
morning — the  floods  of  dazzling  sunshine,  the 
refraction  of  light  from  the  gravel  sweep,  and 
the  frost-gemmed  trees  and  shrubs  that  stood 
out  clearly  in  the  transparent  atmosphere. 

"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth 
peace  to  men  of  good  will !  "  sang  Miss  Vernon, 
softly,  as  she  stood  and  looked  out,  shading  her 
eyes  with  one  hand,  while  the  sunbeams  turned 
her  hair  to  shining  gold. 

"I   like  your  translation    better  than    ours, 


Miss  Tresham ;  and,  oh,  I  wish  you  would  teach 
me  to  sing  the  Latin  as  you  sang  it  last  night ! 
It  seemed  to  me  I  never  heard  a  language  half  so 
beautiful.  You  don't  pronounce  it  as  our  uni- 
versity men  do." 

"  No,  indeed,  I  do  not,"  said  Katharine, 
smiling.  "  I  call  their  pronunciation  barbar- 
ous, and  so  does  anybody  who  has  ever  heard 
the  other.  I'll  teach  you  the  'Gloria'  with 
pleasure,  Miss  Vernon." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  shall  remember  the  promise. 
Do  you  know  that,  like  Lord  Byron,  you  have 
waked  up  this  morning  and  found  yourself 
famous — as  far  as  it  is  in  the  power  of  Annes- 
dale to  bestow  fame  ?  " 

"  Not  I." 

"  Well,  it  is  true,  nevertheless.  Everybody 
is  talking  about  your  voice.  Here  come  two  of 
your  audience  now.  Ask  them  if  it  is  not  so." 

Katharine,  whom  the  sunlight  was  nearly 
blinding,  looked  in  the  direction  indicated,  and 
perceived  two  gentlemen  advancing  along  a  side- 
path  to  the  house.  As  they  came  near  her,  she 
saw  that  one  of  them  was  Morton  Annesley,  and 
the  other  a  tall,  stalwart,  sunburnt  person,  who 
had  been  presented  to  her  on  the  preceding  even- 
ing as  Mr.  Seymour.  Before  she  could  answer 
her  companion,  they  came  up  the  steps,  and,  all 
smiling  and  slightly  purple  from  the  cold,  were 
making  their  Christmas  greetings.  They  had 
been  to  the  stable  to  look  at  their  horses  ;  had 
found  the  morning  charming,  but  rather  cool ; 
and  were  on  their  way  back  for  breakfast — had 
the  ladies  been  to  breakfast  ? 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Miss  Vernon.  "  We  will  take 
you  in  and  give  you  some  hot  coffee  as  a  reward 
for  your  exertions.  What  can  there  be  so  inter- 
esting in  horses,  I  wonder,  that  men  should  go 
out  and  stand  in  the  cold  for  the  pleasure  of  look- 
ing at  them  ?  Mr.  Seymour,  I  heard  those  hounds 
of  yours  making  a  terrible  noise  this  morning. 
When  are  you  going  on  a  fox-hunt  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  morning  at  three  o'clock,  ac- 
cording to  our  present  arrangement,"  said  Mr. 
Seymour,  smiling ;  and  to  Katharine,  standing 
by,  it  was  evident  that  this  stout  Nimrod  was 
like  wax  in  Irene  Vernon's  dainty  hands,  and 
before  the  glance  of  her  sunny  violet  eyes. 

"  And  may  I  go  too  ? — Miss  Tresham,  did 
you  ever  go  fox-hunting  ?  It  is  the  most  delight- 
ful thing  in  the  world. — Mr.  Seymour,  may  I  go 
too  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  impossible,  Miss  Irene." 

"  But  why  ?  Don't  I  often  go,  when  I'm 
down  in  Apalatka  ?  " 


86 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"  Certainly  you  do.  But  it  is  different  here. 
This  ia  a  rougher  country,  and  we  may  have  to 
ride  eight  or  ten  miles  before  we  start  a  fox — at 
least,  Annesley  says  so." 

"  I  think  there  is  very  little  doubt  of  it," 
•aid  Annesley.  "  Miss  Irene,  I  am  afraid  there 
is  no  hope  of  your  going;  but  I  am  sure  Sey- 
mour will  bring  you  the  brush  of  the  first  fox 
that  dies,  and  you  can  hang  it  at  the  side  of 
your  bridle. — By-the-way,"  he  added,  turning 
suddenly  to  Miss  Tresham,  "won't  you  try 
Ilderim,  now  that  you  are  here ?  I  should  like 
it  very  much,  and,  if  you  would  like  it  too,  there 
is  no  possible  reason  to  be  urged  against  it." 

"  Mr.  Annesley,  I " — here  she  broke  down, 
and  laughed — "  I  really  think  you  ought  not  to 
tempt  me  so.  If  I  would  like  one  thing  more 
than  another,  it  would  be  to  ride  Ilderim." 

"  Then,  for  Heaven's  sake,  why  do  you  hesi- 
tate to  do  it  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  profane,  and  I  will  tell  you  after 
a  while.  Now,  we  must  go  in  to  breakfast." 

They  went  in,  and  found  the  breakfast-room 
bright  and  cheery,  and  full  of  the  sound  of  clat- 
tering dishes  and  pleasant  voices.  It  was  on  the 
east  side  of  the  house,  and  the  bright  sunlight 
was  pouring  across  it  in  long  lines  of  level  light. 
Half  a  dozen  round  tables  took  the  place  of  one 
long,  solemn  board,  and  at  five,  out  of  the  six, 
sociable  groups  were  drinking  their  coffee  and 
eating  their  steak  with  healthy  appetites.  The 
four  who  came  in  now  took  their  seats  at  the 
unoccupied  table,  and  smiled  and  nodded  in 
answer  to  the  greetings  given  from  all  sides. 
Miss  Vernon,  in  particular,  came  in  for  a  large 
•hare  of  these. 

"  Irene,  here  are  some  oysters  !  "  cried  one 
young  lady.  "  Do  you  know  they  came  from 
Mobile  packed  in  ice,  and  Mr.  French  says  they 
were  brought  specially  for  you  ?  Take  some ; 
they  are  very  good." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  Irene,  looking  at 
Mr.  French.  "  Is  it  possible  they  are  fresh  ?  " 

"  Taste  them,  and  see,"  said  Morton,  setting 
a  dish  before  her.  "  The  cold  weather  stood 
our  friend. — Miss  Tresham,  do  you  like  oys- 
ters?" 

"  Who  does  not  like  oysters,  Mr.  Annes- 
ley r" 

"A  great  many  people  here  in  the  back- 
woods, I  assure  you.  Ask  Mrs.  Dargan  over 
there  what  she  thinks  of  them." 

"  I  think  they  are  abominable,  and  not  fit  for 
a  Christian  to  look  at,"  said  Mrs.  Dargan,  with  a 
shudder.  "  I  would  just  as  soon  eat  frogs." 


"There  ia  nothing  better  than  a  good  fricas- 
see of  frogs,"  said  Mr.  Langdon,  who  prided 
himself  on  being  cosmopolitan  in  tastes  and 
.deas.  "  You  are  right,  too,  Mrs.  Dargan  — 
there  ia  something  in  the  flavor  not  unlike  oys- 
ters." 

"  I  said  nothing  about  the  flavor ! "  cried 
Mrs.  Dargan.  "  Goodness,  Mr.  Langdon  1  you 
don't  suppose  I  ever  tasted  one  of  the  things  ?  " 

"  If  you  went  to  France,  my  dear  madam—" 
began  Mr.  Langdon. 

"  I  should  be  afraid  to  open  my  mouth  after 
I  got  in  the  country,  for  fear  I  might  be  made  to 
eat  some  of  their  dreadful  concoctions  without 
knowing  it,"  interrupted  the  lady. 

"  Then  let  me  advise  you  not  to  go  to  the 
country,  for  a  fasting-tour  would  be  any  thing 
but  pleasant. — Annesley,  my  good  fellow,  what 
is  the  best  way  to  eat  an  oyster  ?  " 

"  Each  to  his  taste,"  answered  Annesley,  with 
a  smite. 

"  Not  by  any  means,"  said  Mr.  Langdon. 
"  The  best  way,  in  fact,  the  only  civilized  way, 
is — raw.  In  that  case,  they  only  need  a  little 
pepper  and  salt." 

In  this  vein  the  conversation  flowed  back 
and  forth  —  trivial,  but  very  easy  and  unre- 
strained, and  occasionally  sparkling  with  a 
touch  of  humor  or  pleasantry.  Katharine  liked 
it,  as  she  liked  soft  fabrics,  and  rich  rooms,  and 
delicate  perfumes ;  for,  alas !  Mr.  Warwick  was 
right,  and  she  was  by  nature  cursed  with  that 
sensitive  appreciation  of  refinement  and  the  ap- 
pliances of  refinement  which  makes  life  in  the 
lower  grades  of  society  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  a  positive  torture.  After  a  while,  Mrs.  An- 
nesley came  over  and  sat  down  by  her. 

"I  suppose  I  must  not  include  you,  Miss 
Tresham,  in  the  parties  made  up  for  church  this 
morning  ?  "  she  said,  by  way  of  excuse  for  her 
advent. 

"No,  I  shall  not  go,"  answered  Katharine, 
who  thought  the  question  quite  unnecessary. 

"  Fortunately  —  should  one  say  fortunately 
about  such  a  thing  ? — gentlemen  are  not  very  de- 
vout," said  the  lady.  "  If  they  were,  I  hardly 
know  how  all  these  good  people  would  be  con- 
veyed to  hear  Mr.  Norwood  preach. — Irene,  I  be- 
lieve I  heard  you  promise  Morton  that  he  should 
drive  you  ?  "  * 

"  You  heard  me  promise  Mr.  Seymour,"  said 
Irene,  who  saw  Mrs.  Annesley's  schemes  fot 
throwing  Morton  and  herself  together,  and  al- 
ways quietly  managed  to  defeat  them.  "  He 
asked  me — or,  no,  I  believe  I  asked  him  ;  but^ 


THE   APPLE   OF   DISCORD. 


87 


whichever  it  was,  I  am  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
going  behind  those  beautiful  grays  of  his." 

"  Miss  Irene,  you  are  utterly  faithless,"  said 
Morton,  laughing.  "  I  shall  ask  Mrs.  Raynor  to 
console  me  for  your  desertion." 

"  She  will  tell  you  that  George  is  afraid  to 
trust  her  with  your  horses." 

"  I  shall  not  ask  George  auy  thing  about  it. 
Yonder  she  is  now." 

He  rose  hastily,  and  went  up  to  Mrs.  Raynor, 
who  entered  the  room  at  the  moment.  Mrs.  An- 
nesley  watched  him  with  a  smile,  then  quietly 
took  the  vacant  seat  by  Katharine.  She  waa 
very  gracious,  and  talked  so  pleasantly  that  the 
girl  was  half  beguiled  out  of  her  unconscious 
distrust  and  dislike.  But  she  noticed — even  a 
duller  woman  would  have  noticed — how  cleverly 
her  hostess  contrived  that,  in  leaving  the  break- 
fast-room, she  should  be  separated  from  Morton. 
It  was  only  what  Katharine  herself  had  intend- 
ed ;  but,  notwithstanding  this  intention,  she  could 
not  help  resenting  Mrs.  Annesley's  interference. 
However  conscious  we  may  be  of  our  social  draw- 
backs, it  is  not  pleasant  to  have  the  perception 
of  them  thrust  remorselessly  upon  us.  More 
annoyed  than  she  would  have  thought  possible 
by  such  a  trifling  evidence  of  what  she  already 
knew  very  well,  Katharine  went  up-stairs ;  and 
while  she  was  assisting  at  Miss  Lester's  toilet, 
and  cultivating  Spitfire's  acquaintance,  her  name, 
if  she  had  only  known  it,  was  the  topic  of  con- 
versation with  two  different  groups  below-stairs. 

Most  of  the  young  ladies  were  engaged  in 
putting  on  their  wrappings  for  the  drive  to 
church  ;  but  in  the  drawing-room  a  council  of 
elderly  ladies  was  convened  around  the  fire,  and 
Mrs.  Annesley  found  herself  courteously  but  de- 
cidedly on  trial. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Annesley,  I  can  understand 
why  you  wished  to  gratify  Adela  in  bringing  her 
here,"  said  one  of  the  vigilance-committee;  "  but, 
if  I  had  been  in  your  place,  I  really  would  have 
thought  twice  about  it.  She  is  a  dangerous  girl 
—  I  can  see  that  —  and  with  all  these  young 
men — " 

"  The  young  men  can  take  care  of  them- 
selves, I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley,  smiling, 
but  in  her  heart  feeling  any  thing  but  amused. 

"  Indeed,  I  think  they  are  twice  as  foolish  as 
girls,"  said  the  first  speaker,  hastily.  "  You 
hardly  ever  hear  of  girls  acting  as  many  of 
them  do.  There  was  poor  Harry  Anderson — he 
married  a  governess,  and  she  was  so  extravagant 
that  she  nearly  ruined  him.  He  did  not  know 
any  thing  about  her  family,  either ;  and  I  hear 


that  she  had  a  whole  set  of  disreputable  rela- 
tions who  came  and  lived  with  him." 

"  A  drunken  father,"  said  Mrs.  Dargan,  sol- 
emnly. "  Poor  Harry  at  last  had  to  order  him 
out  of  the  house.  Do  you  know  any  thing 
about  Miss  Tresham's  family,  Mrs.  Annesley  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Dargau,  how  should  I  ? " 
asked  Mrs.  Aunesley,  becoming  less  and  less 
amused.  "  I  don't  vouch  for  Miss  Tresham  in 
any  way.  I  am  civil  to  her  because  she  is 
under  my  own  roof ;  but  she  is  here  in — well,  I 
may  almost  say  in  a  professional  capacity." 

"We  know  that,"  said  another  lady — the 
mother  of  the  Mr.  Talcott  who  had  been  atten- 
tive to  Katharine  the  evening  before.  "  But, 
then,  is  it  right  to  throw  temptation  in  the  way 
of  the  young  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  that  is  the 
light  in  which  to  look  at  it.  The  girl  is  certain- 
ly pretty,  and,  what  with  her  looks  and  her  sing- 
ing, she  might  easily  turn  the  heads  of — of  some 
of  these  young  men.  I  am  not  thinking  of  my 
own  son,"  said  the  poor  woman,  who  was  think- 
ing of  nobody  else ;  "  but  there  are  plenty  others 
here,  and — and  I  can  see  that  they  find  her  very 
attractive." 

"  She  is  an  atrocious  flirt,  that  is  very  clear," 
said  Mrs.  Dargan,  sharply.  "  I  read  her  at  once, 
like  a  book  ;  and  I  really  wonder,  Mrs.  Annesley, 
that  you  did  not  see  what  efforts  she  has  made 
to  attract  your  son." 

"  Morton  paid  her  some  attention  at  my  re- 
quest," said  Mrs.  Annesley,  with  her  heart  sink- 
ing lower  every  minute.  She  carried  it  off  very 
bravely ;  but  really  a  terrible  distrust  seized  upon 
her.  Had  she  really  done  mischief,  after  all  ?  In 
the  effort  to  bring  Katharine  fairly  within  the 
scope  of  her  power,  had  she  thrown  a  firebrand 
into  her  party,  and  made  Morton's  infatuation 
the  subject  of  the  observation  which  it  had  hith- 
erto escaped  ?  Almost  all  who  deal  in  schemes 
and  stratagems,  must  sometimes  know  the  dread 
of  having  overreached  their  own  end — and,  hav- 
ing once  known  it,  they  must  be  aware  that  few 
dreads  are  more  terrible.  "  Good  Heavens ! 
what  do  they  find  in  her  so  attractive  ? "  she 
said  at  last,  almost  impatiently.  "  She  seems 
commonplace  enough  to  me." 

"  Well,  do  you  know,  I  think  she  is  very 
pleasant,"  said  a  mild  voice  from  the  sofa,  where 
the  senior  Mrs.  Raynor  sat — a  gentle,  pensive 
lady,  all  bundled  up  in  a  cashmere  shawl. 
"  She  is  a  pretty  creature,  and  her  manners  aw 
so  nice.  She  talked  to  me  for  some  time  last 
night,  and  I  took  quite  a  fancy  to  her.  She  told 
me  a  great  deal  about  the  West  Indies,  and  I 


88 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


think  the  climate  would  certainly  suit  me.  If 
George  la  able  to  leave  home,  I  shall  try  it  next 
winter." 

The  other  ladies  exchanged  significant  glan- 
oea.  Mrs.  Raynor  could  afford  to  take  a  fancy 
to  this  girl,  for  both  of  Mrs.  Raynor's  sons  were 
•afely  tied  in  the  bonds  of  matrimony,  and  there- 
fore not  in  a  position  to  make  fools  of  them- 
selves. While,  as  for  them — there  was  hardly 
one  of  them  who  had  not  some  young  man, 
some  son,  or  nephew,  or  prospective  son-in-law, 
for  whose  safety  of  head  and  heart  she  was  at 
that  moment  quaking. 

Meanwhile,  the  objects  of  all  this  solicitude, 
the  young  men  aforesaid,  were  smoking  their 
cigars  in  and  around  the  front  piazza,  and,  in 
their  free-and-easy  fashion,  canvassing  the  gov- 
erness, who,  to  them,  simply  stood  on  her  merits 
as  ft  woman.  It  may  be  as  well  to  state  that 
Morton  was  absent,  for,  if  he  had  been  present, 
the  conversation  would  certainly  have  received  a 
summary  check. 

"  I  believe  I  will  send  up  and  ask  Miss  Tresh- 
am  to  go  to  church  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Langdon, 
watching  meditatively  the  elegant  equipages 
which,  one  after  another,  swept  up  before  the 
door.  "  My  horses  are  not  quite  as  fine  as  Sey- 
mour's, and  my  buggy  isn't  half  as  new  as  An- 
nesley's ;  but,  still,  I  think  I'll  ask  her. — Here, 
Sam — go  up  to  Miss  Tresham's  room,  and  give 
her  my  compliments  —  Mr.  Langdon's  compli- 
ments— and  say — " 

"  You  may  spare  yourself  that  trouble,  Tom," 
said  Talcott,  who  was  standing  near.  "  Miss 
Treaham  isn't  going  to  church." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"No;  I  didn't  ask  her— but  she  told  Mrs. 
Annesley  so.  I'd  have  asked  her  myself,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  that.  But,  then,  I  remembered 
— «he  is  a  Romanist,  you  know." 

"  How  the  deuce  should  I  know  ?  " 

"  You  might  have  heard  her  say  so — as  I  did. 
t  asked  her  something  about  that  song  last  night, 
•nd  she  told  me  she  was  a  Catholic.  I  suppose 
that's  how  she  came  to  know  Latin.  She  must  be 
unazingly  clever." 

"  She  is  certainly  amazingly  pretty,"  said  Sey. 
roour,  laughing,  while  Langdon  gravely  smoked 
his  pipe,  and  regarded  the  horses.  "  My  test 
of  beauty  is,  whether  a  woman  will  make  any 
showing  by  the  side  of  Irene  Vernon.  I  saw 
Ihem  both  together  this  morning,  and  Miss 
Treaham  not  only  made  a  showing,  but  a  *ery 
good  one.  Who  is  she  ?  Where  does  she  come 
from,  anyhow  ?  " 


"  You  know  Marks — the  man  who  is  cashier 
of  the  bank  in  Tallahoma  ?  "  said  George  Ray- 
nor.  "  Well,  this  girl  is  a  teacher  in  his  family. 
He  picked  her  up  somewhere,  and  they  do  say  " 
— here  the  speaker  looked  significantly  myste- 
rious— "  that  one  of  our  friends,  not  a  thousand 
miles  away,  is  seriously  smitten." 

"  Who  ? — Talcott  ?  "  asked  Langdon,  looking 
round. 

"  I  smitten  ! "  cried  Talcott,  reddening  up  in 
a  minute.  "  Why,  good  Heavens !  I  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing.  She's  very  nice ;  and 
I  got  on  very  well  with  her  last  night — but  I 
don't  see  how  you  could  say  such  a  thing  as 
that,  Raynor." 

"  There's  something  in  a  guilty  conscience, 
Fred,"  said  Raynor,  laughing.  "  I  was  not  even 
thinking  of  you.  I  was  thinking  of — well,  it 
don't  matter  who.  She  it  a  pretty  girl,  there's 
no  doubt  of  that,"  added  he,  candidly.  "  Flora 
tells  me  that  Irene  has  taken  quite  a  fancy  to 
her,  and  that  is  remarkable,  for  Irene  doesn't 
often  take  fancies — especially  to  women." 

"  She  is  too  nice  for  a  governess,"  said  an- 
other smoker.  "  Talcott,  you'd  better  go  in  for 
the  prize.  She  wouldn't  cost  you  much  trouble, 
and  that's  a  consideration." 

"  Stop  that,  Hal,"  said  Seymour,  gravely.  "  I 
can't  bear  to  hear  a  woman  talked  of  in  such  a 
strain.  Governess  or  no  governess,  Miss  Tresh- 
am  is  a  lady,  and  should  be  treated  as  one.  Now, 
I  would  sooner  insult  her  to  her  face  than  behind 
her  back." 

"  Who  thought  about  insulting  her ! "  de- 
manded the  other,  flushing,  and  looking  offended. 

"  You  didn't,  I  suppose  ;  but  it  is  a  bad  habit 
to  talk  in  th:it  way,  and,  if  I  were  you,  I  would 
break  myself  of  it." 

What  the  recipient  of  this  frank  advice  would 
have  replied,  was  a  matter  open  to  conjecture. 
He  frowned,  and  his  answer  would  probably  not 
have  been  very  amiable,  if  a  group  of  brightly- 
dressed  girls  had  not  at  that  moment  come  down 
the  staircase,  and  crossed  the  hall  into  the  piazza. 

Immediately  all  the  bustle  of  departure  be- 
gan, and,  before  long,  carriage  after  carriage 
rolled  out  of  the  open  gates,  and  down  the 
bright,  sunlit  road.  Mrs.  Annesley's  was  the 
last  to  leave,  and,  when  her  foot  was  on  the 
step,  she  turned  suddenly  to  one  of  the  servants 
standing  near. 

"  To-day  is  mail-day,"  she  said.  "  Has  any- 
body  been  to  the  post-office,  Joe  ?  " 

It  was  at  once  evident  from  Joe's  face — a 
good  deal  blank,  and  a  little  foolish — that  such 


THE   APPLE   OF  DISCORD 


89 


an  idea  as  mail-day  or  post-office  had  never 
entered  his  Christmas-beset  mind.  Holding  his 
cap  between  two  fingers,  he  scratched  his  head 
with  the  others,  as  he  replied :  "  I  don't  b'lieve 
anybody  have  thought  about  it,  mistiss." 

"  Take  a  horse  and  go  at  once,  then,"  said 
his  mistress.  "  Don't  forget  U  now — for  I  shall 
expect  to  find  the  mail  when  I  get  back." 

"  I  sha'n't  forget  it,  ma'am." 

And.  as  Mrs.  Annesley  drove  off,  she  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  him  take  his  way  to  the 
stable  with  laudable  haste. 

An  hour  later  Katharine  was  crossing  the 
hall,  when  a  servant  entered  with  a  large  and 
well-filled  mail-bag  slung  across  his  shoulder. 
"  Letters,  ma'am  ?  "  he  said,  touching  his  cap,  as 
if  the  announcement  must  necessarily  interest 
the  young  lady.  But  she  shook  her  head  with 
a.  smile.  "  I  am  not  expecting  any  thing,"  she 
said ;  and  with  that  was  passing  on,  when, 
through  the  open  drawing-room  door,  Miss  Les- 
ter's voice  sounded. 

"  Did  I  hear  something  about  letters,  Miss 
Tresham  ?  Oh,  yes,  there  they  are.  Would  you 
mind  looking  over  them,  and  getting  mine  for 
me  ?  I  know  mamma  must  have  written,  and 
I  hate  to  move — Spitfire  is  so  comfortable,  that 
I  can't  bear  to  disturb  him." 

To  prevent  Spitfire's  being  obliged  to  relin- 
quish his  position  on  his  mistress's  dress,  Kath- 
arine made  the  messenger  empty  the  mail-bag 
on  a  table  near  at  hand,  and  began  looking  over 
the  different  letters.  There  were  some  for  al- 
most everybody,  and  she  soon  found  Miss  Les- 
ter's. As  she  was  turning  away  with  them,  she 
noticed  that  one  missive  had  dropped  to  the 
floor,  where  it  lay  face  downward.  Stooping  to 
pick  it  up,  she  saw  that,  although  it  was  a  large, 
heavy  letter,  the  address  was  to  Mrs.  Annesley 
— and,  seeing  this,  she  could  not  help  looking  at 
it  a  little  curiously.  There  could  be  no  mistake 
in  the  character,  it  was  "  business "  all  over, 
from  the  seal  to  the  very  post-mark,  and  did 
"  not  seem  like  Christmas,"  Katharine  said  to 
herself.  Such  a  letter  should  not  be  opened 
until  the  great  festival  was  over,  she  thought ; 
but  still  she  laid  it  on  top  of  the  pile,  and,  leav- 
ing it  with  its  great  broad  face  upward,  went 
jnto  the  drawing-room  to  Miss  Lester. 

When  the  party  came  back  from  church,  and 
filled  the  house  with  the  gay  sound  of  their 
voices,  Morton  chanced  to  be  the  first  person 
to  go  up  to  the  hall  table  and  examine  the  mail. 
The  large,  double  letter  seemed  to  puzzle  him 
too.  He  took  it  up  and  looked  at  it,  much  as 


Katharine  had  done,  then  laid  it  on  one  side  as 
if  for  further  examination,  and  tossed  over  the 
others. 

"Here,  Seymour  —  Langdon  —  Talcott,"  he 
cried,  "  here  are  letters  for  all  of  you,  and  for 
the  ladies,  too.  Where  have  they  all  vanished 
to? — Miss  Irene,  don't  you  want  to  hear  from 
home  ?  Here  are  two  letters  with  the  Mobile 
post-mark  on  them. — Miss  Alice,  here  is  one  for 
you. — Yes,  Miss  Mary,  I  am  sure  I  saw  your 
name  a  minute  ago." 

He  was  soon  surrounded  by  an  eager  group, 
for  it  is  surprising  how  everybody — excepting, 
perhaps,  a  jaded  business  man — is  excited  by  the 
prospect  of  letters,  how  fond  everybody  is  of  re- 
ceiving them,  and  how  shamefully  remiss  about; 
answering  them.  Those  who  had  got  letters,  wer* 
sitting  on  the  chairs  nearest  around,  reading 
them,  and  those  who  had  not,  were  standing 
about,  looking  very  discontented,  when  Mrs.  An- 
nesley entered  and  walked  up  to  her  son,  who 
was  opening  his  own. 

"  Any  thing  for  me,  Morton  ?  "  she  asked, 
as  carelessly  as  possible. 

Her  son  looked  up  with  a  start,  and  held  the 
large  missive  toward  her. 

"  A  letter  from  Burns,"  he  said.  "  I  wonder 
what  he  is  writing  to  you  about  ?  He  ought  to 
know  that  I  don't  like  you  to  be  troubled  with 
business  matters." 

"  I  wrote  to  him,  and  this  is  merely  a  reply," 
Mrs.  Annesley  answered.  "  It  is  about  my  own 
business,  Morton — you  need  not  be  afraid  that  I 
will  meddle  in  yours,"  she  added,  a  little  bit- 
terly ;  and  before  he  could  reply,  she  had  taken 
the  letter  and  passed  on  up-stairs. 

As  soon  as  she  was  safely  within  her  own 
room,  she  tore  open  the  sheet  of  paper  that  in 
those  days  did  duty  for  an  envelope,  and,  with- 
out glancing  at  the  lawyer's  letter,  drew  forth 
the  enclosure  which  it  contained.  She  spread  it 
on  the  table  before  her,  but  her  excitement  was 
so  great  that  for  a  moment  she  could  scarcely 
see — then  a  mist  seemed  suddenly  to  clear  away, 
and,  though  she  still  trembled  with  eagerness, 
she  was  able  to  read  the  lines  on  which  depended 
so  much.  The  letter  was  addressed  to  Mr. 
Burns,  by  his  agent  in  London,  and  ran  thus  : 

"  WM.  F.  BURNS,  ESQ. 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  In  reply  to  your  favor,  I  am  en- 
abled to  say  that  I  have  called  on  Messrs.  Rich 
&  Little,  and  found  them  quite  ready  to  afford 
me  any  information  regarding  U:.  Henry  St. 
John.  He  is  known  to  them  as  the  friend  and 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


secretary  of  one  of  their  clients — a  wealthy 
Scotch  gentleman ;  and,  although  they  have 
never  done  business  on  his  own  account,  they 
•peak  highly  of  him  from  personal  acquaintance. 
With  regard  to  the  lady,  however,  they  were  de- 
cidedly reticent  When  I  pressed  my  inquiries 
on  this  score,  I  was  checked  very  shortly,  and 
reminded  that  a  matter  of  private  business  could 
cot  be  discussed  with  any  but  the  person  or  per- 
sons immediately  concerned,  and  that,  if  I  wished 
information  about  Miss  Tresham,  I  had  better 
apply  to  Mr.  St.  John.  I  took  the  hint,  and  Mr. 
St.  John's  address,  and  went  to  Scotland  to  see 
him.  When  I  reached  the  house  to  which  I  had 
been  directed,  I  found  it  closed  and  deserted. 
The  servants  informed  me  that  both  the  pro- 
prietor and  his  secretary  were  absent,  and,  it 
was  supposed,  had  left  the  country.  Being  near 
Cumberland,  I  then  went  to  Donthorne  Place, 
and  made  my  inquiries.  Here  I  met  with  more 
success.  The  lady  whom  I  saw  answered  my 
questions  without  any  hesitation.  Miss  Tresham 
had  been  in  her  family  for  a  year,  and  had  given 
entire  satisfaction.  She  had  not  been  discharged, 
but  had  resigned  the  situation  of  her  own  free- 
will, and  against  the  wishes  of  her  employers. 
The  lady  knew  nothing  of  Miss  Tresham's  ante- 
cedents, except  that  she  was  a  West  Indian,  and 
had  come  to  her  very  well  recommended.  She 
seemed  much  surprised  when  I  asked  her  if  she 
knew  any  thing  of  her  after  her  departure  from 
Cumberland,  and  replied  at  once  in  the  negative. 
From  none  of  the  servants  or  hangers-on  about 
the  place  could  I  obtain  any  more  definite  infor- 
mation. Miss  Tresham  seems  to  have  been  very 
well  liked  while  she  was  in  Cumberland,  and  to 
have  left  a  good  name  behind  her  when  she  went 
away,  but  nobody  considered  her  of  sufficient 
importance  to  inquire  about  or  take  interest  in 
after  she  passed  out  of  their  lives. 

"  1  am  very  sorry  that  this  information  is  so 
meagre,  and  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  give 
you  more  satisfaction,  but  I  have  been  stopped 
at  every  turn — first  by  the  solicitors,  then  by 
Mr.  St.  John's  absence,  and  finally  by  the  com- 
plete manner  in  which  all  trace  of  Miss  Tresham 
had  vanished  from  Donthorne  Place.  If  you 
wish  any  further  inquiries  prosecuted,  let  me 
bear  from  you  without  loss  of  time. 
"  Respectfully,  etc., 

"T.  W.  WARD." 

Mrs.  Annesley  read  the  letter  to  its  end — her 
lips  parted,  and  her  breath  coming  more  quickly, 
with  every  minute,  "When  she  finished  she 


stopped  a  second — in  blink  astonishment,  as  it 
were — then  let  her  face  drop  on  her  hands,  while 
something  like  a  dry  sob  rose  in  her  throat. 
This  was  all !  She  had  steadily  worked  herself 
into  the  belief  that  some  terrible  disclosure  was 
to  reward  her  exertions,  some  disclosure  that 
would  at  once  open  Morton's  eyes,  and  place 
Katharine  in  her  power;  and  now  this  cruel  let- 
ter came,  and,  after  all  the  hope,  all  the  expec» 
tation,  left  the  mystery  as  complete  as  ever ! 
Surely  it  was  bitter  !  Surely  it  was  hard  1  She 
paid  no  heed  to  the  lawyer's  letter  lying  unread 
before  her.  She  knew  so  well  what  he  said, 
that  the  mere  thought  of  reading  the  curt,  busi- 
ness-like sentences  filled  her  with  disgust.  For 
a  time  she  felt  as  if  her  whole  plan,  and,  with 
her  plan,  the  whole  tissue  of  her  life,  had  suddenly 
come  to  an  end.  If  she  could  show  him  nothing 
worse  than  this,  Morton  would  marry  the  girl 
and  ther. — 

But  she  was  not  a  woman  to  remain  long  in 
such  a  mood  as  this".  Soon  she  came  to  herself, 
and  the  first  proof  which  she  gave  of  it  was  to 
take  up  the  lawyer's  letter  and  read  it.  "  I  will 
see  what  he  has  to  say,"  she  muttered.  This  was 
what  Mr.  Burns  had  to  say  : 

"  DEAR  MADAM  :  Herewith  you  will  find  en- 
closed the  letter  from  London  of  which  I  spoke 
in  my  last.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  my  agent  has 
not  justified  my  opinion  of  him.  The  informa- 
tion which  he  sends,  any  child,  who  had  been 
told  to  make  the  inquiries,  could  easily  have  ac- 
quired. He  tells  us  no  more  than  we  knew  be- 
fore, and  does  not  throw  a  single  ray  of  light  on 
Mr.  St.  John  or  Miss  Tresham.  I  am  very  sorry, 
and  a  little  ashamed  to  think  that  at  my  age  i 
should  have  employed  a  man  who  could  do  no 
better  than  this. 

"  You  ask  for  my  opinion  of  the  matter.  I 
know  too  little  yet  to  form  or  express  an  opinion, 
but  if  you  decide  to  prosecute  your  inquiries,  1 
would  advise  you  to  do  so  through  certain  chan- 
nels of  secret  inquiry  which  are  now  established 
in  all  large  cities,  and  employ  agents  so  well 
trained  in  the  work,  that  for  a  consideration — 
and,  generally,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  very  large 
consideration— it  is  possible  to  learn  any  thing 
about  anybody.  This  mode  would  be  expensive 
but  secure ;  and  if  you  wish  to  track  the  secret 
down,  in  the  shortest  possible  time,  I  would 
counsel  you  to  let  Miss  Tresham  alone,  and  fol- 
low Mr.  St.  John  and  his  employer.  It  'e  evident 
to  me  that  there  is  some  close  connection  be- 
tween them,  and  what  you  desire  to  know.  Ma> 


ST.  JOHN. 


91 


not  Mr.  St.  John  be  acting  for  his  employer  in 
the  matter  ?  I  merely  throw  out  the  suggestion. 
Trusting  that  you  will  let  me  hear  from  you  on 
the  subject,  I  am, 

"  Yery  respectfully, 

"  WM,  F.  BURNS." 

"When  Mrs.  Annesley  put  down  this  letter, 
she  felt  that  her  face  was  burning.  It  was  the 
cool  proposition  of  the  lawyer,  the  cool  words, 
"  certain  channels  of  secret  inquiry,"  which  had 
suddenly  showed  her  where  she  was  standing, 
and  what  she  was  doing.  She  said  "  Good 
Heavens !  "  all  at  once,  as  if  she  had  received 
an  unexpected  blow ;  and  then  she  was  silent, 
and  tried  to  look  the  situation  in  the  face. 

She  was  a  selfish  woman,  and  a  woman  whose 
whole  heart  was  bound  up  in  her  children  and 
their  interests — bound  up,  no't  with  the  tender 
devotion  that  would  make  some  women  martyrs, 
but  with  a  steady  force  that  would  have  sacri- 
ficed all  the  rest  of  the  world  to  them — but  she 
was  not  at  all  the  scheming  intrigante  of  ro- 
mance. If  she  proved  merciless  in  the  case  of 
her  cousin,  it  was  not  so  much  from  that  desire 
for  Morton  House  which  long  indulgence  had  fos- 
tered, as  from  the  rankling  dislike  born  of  early 
envy.  With  regard  to  these  inquiries  about  Kath- 
arine, she  had  begun  them,  and  from  the  first 
looked  upon  them  as  the  purest  matter  of 
duty.  As  she  told  Adela,  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  that  the  girl  was  an  unprincipled 
adventuress,  and  she  would  have  thought  it 
wrong  to  hesitate  at  any  means  which  would 
remove  her  from  Morton's  life.  To-day,  for  the 
first  time,  a  feeling  of  dismay  came  over  her. 
What  was  she  doing  ?  Was  this  indeed  a  thing 
which  no  man  or  woman  of  even  the  merest 
worldly  honor  should  be  guilty  of  ?  She  was 
coolly  advised  to  prosecute  secret  inquiries  into 
the  private  life  of  people  she  had  never  seen, 
and  the  advice  struck  her  with  a  sudden  sense 
of  shame  and  humiliation.  "  It  is  for  him — for 
Morton,"  she  said,  as  she  had  often  said  before; 
but  somehow  the  words  did  not  bring  their  usual 
reassurance  and  consolation. 

This,  however,  was  not  the  time  for  consider- 
ations like  these.  She  remembered  with  a  feeling 
of  impatience  that  it  was  Christmas  Day,  that 
her  house  was  full  of  guests,  and  that  her  own 
place  was  down-stairs.  She  put  the  letters  into 
her  secretary,  and  rang  sharply  for  her  maid. 
But  while  she  changed  her  dress,  she  was  think- 
ing of  the  great  solemn  dinner  before  her — the 
Christmas  dinner  par  excellence,  like  which  there 


was  no  other  throughout  the  entire  year — think 
ing  of  Katharine,  thinking  of  the  expostulating 
remarks  she  had  heard  that  morning,  thinking 
also  of  the  letters  she  had  read,  thinking  of  -the 
entire  failure  of  her  scheme,  and  wishing  that 
she  had  not  so  uselessly  thrown  this  apple  of 
discord  into  the  midst  of  her  well-ordered  party, 
but  had  left  it  in  peace  in  Mr.  Marks's  garden. 

"  What  on  earth  will  come  of  it  all  ?  "  she 
said  to  herself,  as  she  slowly  went  down-stairs, 
and  the  sound  of  Katharine's  voice  rose  from  the 
back  drawing-room,  mingled  with  the  rich,  deep 
tones  of  the  organ.  Mrs.  Annesley  knew  what 
sort  of  faces  the  ladies  in  the  front  drawing- 
room  were  wearing,  and  she  actually  felt  cow- 
ardly  about  going  down  to  meet  them.  It  would 
have  been  strange,  and  consoling,  too,  perhaps, 
if  she  had  only  known  that,  when  she  laid  down 
her  weapons,  Fate  took  them  up,  and  from  that 
time  forth  ceased  not  to  fight  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


As  time  went  on,  matters,  from  the  ladies' 
point  of  view,  grew  decidedly  worse  instead  of 
better.  Perversely  enough,  the  gentlemen  per- 
sisted in  paying  attention-  to  Miss  Tresham,  in 
stoutly  maintaining  that  she  was  pretty,  and  in 
finding  her  very  entertaining.  No  girl  of  the 
party  could  gather  a  larger  circle  of  admirers 
round  her,  or  keep  them  amused  for  a  longer 
space  of  time — not  even  Irene  Vernon,  with  all 
her  beauty.  How  Miss  Tresham  managed  it, 
nobody  was  able  to  explain ;  but  that  she  did 
manage  it  was,  to  say  the  least,  amply  proved. 
"  She  must  necessarily  suffer  by  a  comparison 
with  Irene  Vernon,"  Mrs.  Annesley  had  said, 
with  profound  confidence  in  her  own  assertion. 
What  words,  then,  can  describe  her  dismay  when 
she  found  that  there  were  others  besides  Morton 
who  had  sufficiently  bad  taste  to  find  a  charm  in 
those  gray  eyes  and  that  pretty  mouth,  which 
Irene  Vernon's  regular  features  lacked  ? 

"  There  is  no  use  denying  the  fact,"  Miss  Les- 
ter said,  with  a  little  play  of  the  eyebrows,  pecu- 
liar to  herself,  "  Miss  Tresham  throws  us  all  in 
the  shade  ;  and  for  my  part  I  should  like  to  know 
how  she  does  it." 

Mrs.  French,  to  whom  this  speech  was  made, 
shrugged  her  shoulders  with  considerable  impa- 
tience. 

"  She  dees  it  simply  on  the  strength  of  being 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


something  new,"  she  answered.  "  Men  are  such 
fools  about  a  new  face  They  talk  of  the  fickle- 
ness of  women,  when  the  fact  is,  that  they  would 
grow  tired  of  Venus  herself." 

\\~heiher  or  not  this  was  a  correct  solution 
of  the  mutter,  it  was  at  least  certain  that  Miss 
Tresham  made  a  sensation — a  sensation  not  to 
be  doubted,  and  which  took  herself  as  much  by 
surprise  as  it  could  possibly  have  taken  anybody 
else.  She  enjoyed  it,  and  entered  into  it  with 
great  zest.  As  she  had  told  Mrs.  Gordon  she 
was  fond  of  pleasure,  and  here  was  pleasure  of 
the  best  kind,  mingled  with  that  elixir  of  ad- 
miration which  is  the  sweetest  draught  that  can 
be  put  to  the  lips  of  youth.  Mrs.  Marks  would 
hardly  have  recognized  her  quiet  governess  in 
the  bright,  handsome  girl  who  laughed,  and 
talked,  and  sang  at  Annesdale,  and  who,  all  of 
a  sudden,  developed  a  power  of  attraction  that 
quite  carried  the  young  men  out  of  their  senses. 
The  young  ladies  were  piqued  and  puzzled,  but 
they  managed  to  console  themselves  with  their 
own  sworn  admirers ;  while  the  elders  looked 
on  in  amazement  and  indignation,  too  deep  for 
words.  Poor  Katharine  !  If  they  had  only 
known  it,  they  need  not  have  grudged  her  this 
short  holiday  of  natural,  youthful  enjoyment. 
Even  while  her  heart  was  lightest  and  her  spir- 
its at  their  best,  a  sudden  dark  cloud  arose,  and 
the  sunshine  went  out  of  her  sky  for  many  a 
long  day. 

Rapidly  and  pleasantly  the  time  flew  by. 
Anybody  who  has  ever  been  in  a  country-house 
of  this  description,  knows  how  rapidly  and  how 
pleasantly  time  can  fly  on  such  occasions,  yet 
how  impossible  it  is  to  give  any  exact  descrip- 
tion of  the  enjoyment  that  helps  its  flight.  Peo- 
ple, as  it  seems,  are  doing  a  dozen  things  at 
once,  and  they  all  go  to  muke  up  an  harmonious 
whole.  There  are  flirting  couples  behind  the 
curtains  of  the  bay-windows,  in  the  shady  re- 
eesses  of  the  library,  in  the  hall,  on  the  piazzas, 
walking  over  the  grounds — in  fact,  flirting  is  the 
chief  amusement  and  grand  order  of  the  day. 
Then,  there  are  groups  around  the  piano,  and 
small  card-tables,  and  billiard-players,  and  peo- 
ple continually  driving  up  in  carriages,  and  riding 
off  on  horseback ;  and  servants  coming  and  go- 
ing, and  dogs  everywhere,  and  a  perfect  tide  of 
life  flowing  here  and  there,  and  centring  every 
day  around  the  dinner-table.  Usually  in  the 
morning,  about  three  or  four  o'clock,  there  was 
an  uproar  of  hounds,  and  horns,  and  horses, 
that  roused  every  sleeper  in  the  house,  when  all 
tbe  gentlemen,  with  the  exception  of  one  or  two 


who  were  considered  hopeless  sybarites,  went 
fox-hunting — dropping  in  again,  about  mid-day, 
either  flushed  with  success  or  dispirited  by  fail- 
ure, but  in  either  case  quite  ready  to  take  up 
their  respective  flirtations  just  at  the  point 
where  they  had  been  left  off. 

On  such  a  morning  as  this — a  morning  when 
the  hunters  were  out  and  had  not  yet  returned, 
and  the  ladies  were  wandering  about  aimlessly 
or  yawning  in  each  other's  faces — Katharine  sat 
by  one  of  the  drawing-room  windows  trifling 
over  some  needlework,  when  Irene  Vernon  came 
up  to  her. 

"  Are  you  busy  ?  "  asked  the  young  lady,  ab- 
ruptly. "  If  you  don't  mind  leaving  that  work, 
suppose  we  take  a  walk  ?  It  is  a  lovely 
day." 

Katharine  did  not  mind  leaving  the  work  at 
all ;  so  she  put  it  down,  got  her  bonnet  and 
shawl,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  walking  by  Miss 
Vernon's  side  out  of  the  front  door.  They  went 
down  the  piazza  steps  together  and  turned  into  a 
path  to  the  right,  that,  winding  down  among  the 
shrubbery,  soon  led  them  out  of  sight  of  the 
house.  Irene  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  when  the  last 
glimpse  of  the  chimneys  was  shut  out,  and  they 
had  a  wall  of  green  on  one  side,  and  a  fair  out- 
look of  rolling  country  on  the  other. 

"  I  am  so  glad, to  get  away,"  she  said,  frank- 
ly. "  I  lose  all  patience  with  those  girls  ;  they 
don't  seem  to  have  an  idea  what  to  do  with  them- 
selves when  the  gentlemen  are  absent.  They 
mope  about,  and  are  ennuyees  and  stupid  to  the 
last  degree,  and  all  because  they  are  thrown  on 
their  own  resources  for  a  few  hours.  It  is  disgust- 
ing ! "  said  the  young  lady,  with  an  expression 
of  face  that  quite  suited  her  words.  "  It  is 
really  enough  to  make  one  ashamed  of  being  a 
woman  ! " 

"  It  is  natural,  I  suppose,"  said  Katharine. 

"  Why  should  it  be  natural  ?  "  retorted  Miss 
Vernon,  indignantly.  "  It  is  not  natural  at  all — 
it  is  the  way  they  are  taught  and  trained.  Men 
are  not  so,"  she  went  on,  with  an  impatience 
that  amused  her  listener.  "  You  never  hear  of 
their  pining  and  moping  because  there  are  no 
women  about.  They  like  each  other's  society  a 
great  deal  the  best ;  and  they  always  take  it 
when  they  can  get  it.  It  is  only  women  who  are 
so  absurdly  artd  disgustingly  dependent — who 
can  find  no  zest  or  amusement  whatever  in  the 
society  of  other  women.  Heaven  only  knows 
why !  I  am  sure  I  would  rather  be  talking  to 
you  than  to  any  man  of  all  the  party." 

"  Thank  you,"  eaid  Katharine,  smiling.    Then 


ST.   JOHN. 


93 


•lie  added,  archly,  "  Won't  you  even  make  an 
exception  in  favor  of  Mr.  Seymour  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  ?  "  asked  the  young  lady, 
carelessly.  "  He  is  a  good  fellow — dear,  old 
Godfrey  ! — and  I  have  known  him  all  my  life  ; 
but,  excepting  for  that,  he  is  no  more  to  me  than 
any  other  man.  Is  there  anybody  you  would 
prefer  as  a  companion  ?  " 

"  Nobody  at  all,"  answered  Katharine,  still 
smiling.  "  Indeed,  I  should  be  at  a  loss  to  think 
of  anybody,  unless  I  chose  Mr.  Langdon,  or  Mr. 
Talcott,  or  that  very  singular  Mr.  Hallam,  who 
makes  me  afraid  he  is  going  to  snap  my  head  off 
every  time  he  begins  to  talk." 

"  Or  Morton  Annesley,"  said  her  companion. 

Katharine  started,  and  gave  a  keen  glance  at 
the  face  beside  her,  but  failed  to  read  atoy  thing 
there.  Miss  Vernon  was  walking  along  tearing 
a  geranium-leaf  to  pieces,  and  did  not  even  raise 
her  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  make  an  excep- 
tion of  Mr.  Annesley,"  said  Miss  Tresham,  a  little 
distantly. 

"  I  thought  he  was  a  friend  of  yours,"  an- 
swered Miss  Vernon.  "  If  I  had  a  friend,  I 
would  not  speak  of  him  in  such  a  tone  as  that." 

"  If  you  had  a  friend ! "  repeated  Katharine, 
a  little  surprised.  "  Have  you  no  friend,  then  ?  " 

"  Of  my  own  making,  independently  of  family 
liking  and  hereditary  connection,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  ?  Not  one.  All  my  life  I  have 
wished  that  I  might  stand  on  my  own  merits  and 
see  if  I  could  gain  a  friend  who  would  like  me 
for  myself.  But  I  have  never  done  so,  and,  in- 
deed, it  would  be  quite  useless,  for,  if  I  cannot 
attract  people  with  so  many  aids  to  win  their  re- 
gard, what  would  I  do  without  these  aids  ?  I 
should  be  simply  hated — that  is  all." 

"  You  are  one  of  the  last  persons  in  the 
world  I  could  possibly  have  expected  to  hear 
talk  in  this  way." 

"  Because  I  am  pretty  and  rich  ?  Neither 
of  those  facts  make  me  less  unamiable  or  less 
unpopular.  Not  that  I  care  for  the  unpopular- 
ity, but  I  should  like  to  have  one  or  two  friends, 
and  I  have  none." 

She  made  the  statement  in  a  quiet,  decided 
tone,  and  Katharine  was  astonished,  and  puzzled, 
and  sorry  all  at  once. 

"  Miss  Vernon,"  she  said,  "  I  am  sure  you  do 
many  people  great  injustice." 

"  Of  course  I  am  not  talking  of  my  own  fam- 
ily," said  Miss  Vernon,  "  They  are  fond  of  me, 
as  one  will  be  fond  of  one's  own  flesh  and  blood, 
'et  it  be  ever  so  disagreeable.  And  I  am  very 
7 


disagreeable,"  she  added,  looking  the  young  gov- 
erness straight  in  the  face. 

"  I  have  really  been  considering  you  very 
charming,"  said  the  other,  trying  to  preserve  an 
appearance  of  gravity. 

"  Then  you  are  the  first  woman  who  ever  did 
so,"  answered  her  companion.  "  The  most  of 
them  think  me  detestable,  and,  indeed,  I  don:t 
wonder — my  temper  is  so  easily  upset,  and  my 
tongue  is  so  sharp.  I  try  to  keep  it  under  con- 
trol, but  somehow  I  can't.  I  don't  ever  hear  you 
make  ill-natured  remarks,  Miss  Tresham ;  and 
yet  you  are  not  silly  either.  How  do  you  man- 
age it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  often  feel  inclined  to 
make  ill-natured  remarks ;  but,  when  I  do,  1 
don't  give  way  to  the  inclination." 

"  And  I  always  give  way.  Then,  people 
think,  '  How  hateful  she  is ! '  and,  honestly 
speaking,  I  don't  blame  them.  As  for  my  ad- 
mirers, some  of  them  like  me  for  my  face,  and 
some  for  my  fortune ;  but,  if  I  were  to  try  for- 
ever, I  could  not  secure  half  as  much  genuine 
admiration  as  you  have  obtained,  without  trying, 
during  the  last  few  days." 

"  Miss  Vernon,  you  do  yourself  as  much  in- 
justice  as  you  do  other  people.  You  are  clever, 
and  frank,  and  unaffected — what  more  could  a 
woman  wish  to  be  ?  " 

"  I  am  sharp,  and  haughty,  and  ill-natured," 
said  Miss  Vernon,  summing  up  her  bad  qualities 
with  an  utter  disregard  of  this  attempt  at  con- 
solation. "  If  you  knew  me  long  enough,  you 
would  be  repelled  like  everybody  else.  I  really 
believe  Godfrey  Seymour  is  the  only  person  who 
knows  all  my  faults  and  likes  me  in  spite  of 
them  ;  while  I  like  him — poor,  dear  fellow ! — as 
if — as  if  he  was  a  great  Newfoundland  dog." 

"  No  better  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  better." 

She  spoke  decidedly,  and  Miss  Tresham  could 
not  help  feeling  a  little  sorry  for  the  gentleman 
who  was  liked  in  this  canine  fashion.  "  He  de- 
serves something  better,"  she  thought ;  but  it 
was  none  of  her  business  to  say  so,  and  they 
walked  on  silently,  the  bright  winter  day  lying  in 
still  beauty  all  around  them,  birds  singing  over 
their  heads,  and  a  faint,  purple  mist  softening 
the  distant  hills  like  a  harbinger  of  spring. 
Again  it  was  Miss  Vernon  who  spoke  first,  and 
spoke  abruptly : 

"  Miss  Tresham,  do  you  know  it  is  a  plan  of 
our  respective  relations  to  marry  Morton  Annes- 
ley and  myself  to  each  other  ?  " 

"  I — "  Katharine  was  quite  taken  aback  bj 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


this  unexpected  question.  "  Yes,  I  have  beard 
something  of  the  kind." 

"  A  nice  idea,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  the  young  lady, 
with  a  smile  that  was  rather  too  bright  to  be 
natural.  "  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  any  thing 
more  absurd.  Frank  French  is  my  cousin,  you 
know,  and  so  Adela  and  Flora  took  it  into  their 
wise  heads  that  Morton  and  I  would  make  a  good 
match,  without  any  regard  to  the  trifling  fact  that 
neither  of  us  ever  had  any  fancy — any  special 
fancy,  that  is — for  the  other.  Of  course,  he 
was  repelled  by  my  temper,  as  everybody  is, 
while  I — well,  I  never  thought  of  him  at  all.  I 
should  have  been  a  fool  if  I  had,  considering 
that  he  never  was  more  than  civil  to  me.  He  is 
a  charming  gentleman,  though,"  she  said,  look- 
ing at  Katharine,  "  and  any  woman  whom  he 
loved  would  do  well  to  marry  him." 

They  were  almost  the  same  words  that  Mrs. 
Gordon  had  spoken,  little  more  than  a  week  be- 
fore, nnd,  hearing  them  thus  the  second  time, 
they  filled  Katharine  with  a  sudden  sense  of  sur- 
prise and  amusement,  which  it  is  impossible  to 
describe.  She  understood  perfectly  what  assur- 
ance it  was  that  Miss  Vernon  wished  to  convey 
to  her,  and  the  humor  of  the  situation  overpow- 
ered for  the  moment  every  other  consideration. 
It  was  strange  enough  that  his  own  cousin,  a 
woman  steeped  to  the  lips  in  the  traditions 
of  her  class  and  the  pride  of  blood,  should  have 
advised  her  to  marry  Morton  ;  but  for  this  young 
beauty,  this  girl,  who,  according  to  the  vulgar 
melodramatic  idea,  should  have  been  her  "  ri- 
val," to  echo  such  advice !  A  comic  vision  of 
Mr*.  Anncsley's  horror  rose  before  Katharine, 
and  almost  made  her  laugh. 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  she  answered,  as 
quietly  as  she  had  answered  Mrs.  Gordon.  "  The 
woman  whom  he  loved,  and  who  loved  him, 
would  do  well  to  marry  Mr.  Annesley.  But  how 
b  this  ?  We  have  come  round  to  the  gates." 

"  By  a  longer  route  than  the  carriage-drive, 
bnt  one  just  as  sure,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  smiling. 
"  See  1  there  is  some  one  coming  in.  Shall  we 
turn  and  go  back  the  way  we  came  ?  " 

Before  Katharine  could  reply,  Spitfire,  who 
had  lately  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  her,  and  had 
condescended  yto  follow  her  out,  made  a  wild 
rush  at  the  figure  just  entering  the  gate,  barking 
with  a  degree  of  fury  almost  incomprehensible, 
considering  the  size  of  the  body  from  which  the 
•ound  proceeded.  Notwithstanding  his  insigni- 
Bcant  appearance,  he  quite  startled  and  over- 
powered the  new-comer.  This  person — a  tall, 
•lender,  well-dressed  man— backed  against  the 


gate,  and  began  kicking  at  his  assailant  with 
one  foot,  which  proceeding,  of  course,  irritated 
Spitfire  to  the  extreme  of  canine  wrath. 

"Call  him  off!  call  him  off!"  cried  Miss 
Vernon  to  Katharine.  "  He  will  bite  the  man, 
or  the  man  will  hurt  him,  and  that  would  make 
Maggie  furious,  you  know.  Do  call  him  off !  " 

Katharine  called  and  called  again  ;  but  Spit- 
fire, who  did  not  obey  his  mistress,  was  certainly 
not  likely  to  obey  her.  He  danced  round  the 
stranger  like  a  dog  that  was  possessed,  and  gave 
no  sign  of  heeding.  So  Katharine  went  forward 
and  addressed  the  other  combatant,  who  kicked 
quite  as  furiously  as  Spitfire  barked. 

"  Pray  don't  do  that !  "  she  cried.  "  He 
won't  bite,  I  assure  you,  and — " 

She  stopped  short.  Miss  Vernon,  standing 
at  a  little  distance,  looking  on,  saw  her  suddenly 
put  her  hands  to  her  face,  and  utter  a  low  cry. 
The  kicker  dropped  his  foot,  and,  disregarding 
Spitfire,  made  a  quick  step  forward. 

"  Katharine  !  "  he  said,  eagerly — "  my  dear 
Katharine ! " 

But  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  girl  raised 
her  face,  all  white  and  drawn,  and  held  out  her 
hands,  not  to  welcome,  but  to  keep  him  back. 

"You  !  "  she  said,  hoarsely  ;  "  you  ! " 

"  Yes,  I,"  he  said,  so  much  the  more  self- 
possessed  of  the  two  that  it  was  evident  this 
meeting  was  not  entirely  unexpected  on  his  part. 
"  I  thought  you  would  not  be  unprepared.  I 
wrote  to  you  not  long  ago.  Did  you  not  receive 
my  letter  ?  " 

She  made  an  effort  to  speak  before  she  suc- 
ceeded ;  then,  with  a  sort  of  dry  gasp,  the  words 
were  articulated  • 

"  Yes,  I  received  it ;  but  I  thought — I  hoped 
— that  is,  I  was  fool  enough  to  think — to  hope — 
that  you  might  care  for  me  sufficiently  to  leave 
me  alone.'' 

"  To  leave  you  alone,  my  dear  Katharine  ?  " 
His  face  expressed  the  liveliest  surprise.  "  Am 
I  not  your  natural  protector,  your — " 

"  Hush  ! "  she  said,  so  fiercely  that  he  abso- 
lutely started  back.  "  Let  me  hear  none  of  that 
cant !  What  do  you  want  with  me,  now  that  you 
have  come  ?  " 

"  I  must  see  and  speak  to  yon,"  he  said,  a 
little  sulkily.  "Will  you  take  me  to  the 
house  ?  " 

"  To  the  house  ?  to  be  asked  who  and  what 
you  are  ?  My  God,  no  !  Wait  here  a  moment ; 
I  will  speak — " 

She  left  him,  and  hastily  followed  Miss  Ver- 
who,  with  well-bred  consideration,  had 


ST.  JOHN. 


95 


walked  out  of  ear-shot  of  the  conversation. 
Hearing  Katharine's  step  behind  her,  she  paused 
and  turned. 

"  So  you  found  an  acquaintance,  Miss  Tresh- 
am  ?  "  she  began,  with  a  smile,  when  the  terri- 
ble pallor  of  the  girl's  face  startled  her.  "  Good 
Heavens !  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  cried,  in 
sudden  alarm. 

"  Nothing  —  nothing,"  answered  Katharine* 
striving  to  force  a  smile  that  only  made  her  look 
more  ghastly ;  "  only  I — I  am  obliged  to  ask  you 
to  return  to  the  house  without  me.  This  gentle- 
man is  an — an  acquaintance  of  mine,  and  I  must 
stop  to  speak  to  him.  You  will  excuse  me,  I 
am  sure." 

"  Certainly  I  will  excuse  you,"  said  Miss  Ver- 
non,  trying  hard  to  keep  her  surprise  out  of  her 
voice.  "  But,  if  you  will  pardon  me,  had  you 
not  better  take  your  friend  to  the  house  ?  I  am 
sure  Mrs.  Annesley — " 

"  I  cannot  do  that,"  said  Katharine,  nervous- 
ly. "  I  could  not  think  of  taking  such  a  lib- 
erty. Then,  no  privacy  is  possible  in  the  house, 
and  I  must  see  this  gentleman  privately.  My 
dear  Miss  Vernon,  if  you  will  only  be  kind 
enough  not  to  say  any  thing — " 

"  Of  course,  I  shall  not  say  any  thing,"  inter- 
rupted Miss  Vernon,  hastily. 

Then  she  called  Spitfire,  and,  without  a  sin- 
gle backward  glance,  disappeared  down  the 
path. 

When  the  last  flutter  of  her  dress  vanished 
from  sight,  Katharine  turned  and  beckoned  to 
the  man,  who  was  still  standing  where  she  had 
left  him.  He  obeyed  the  signal  with  alacrity ; 
and,  as  he  walked  quickly  forward,  she  moved 
on  in  front  of  him,  and  did  not  pause  until  she 
had  reached  the  most  secluded  part  of  the 
grounds  —  a  deep,  bosky  dell,  where  a  little 
brook  ran,  and  where  they  were  entirely  safe 
from  observation.  There  she  turned  and  faced 
him — white,  but  by  this  time  composed  and 
rigidly  braced,  as  it  seemed,  for  any  thing. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  icy  coldness,  "  what 
is  it  ?  " 

"  By  Jove  !  my  dear  Katharine,  your  Amer- 
ican sojourn  seems  to  have  improved  the  warmth 
of  your  affections,"  said  her  companion,  with 
a  smile.  "  Is  this  the  only  greeting  you  have 
for  me  —  me,  who  have  come  so  far  to  see 
you  ? " 

"  St.  John,"  she  cried,  passionately,  "  let  me 
hear  no  more  of  this !  I  cannot,  will  not,  bear 
it !  You  have  already  worked  me  all  the  harm 
ihat  it  is  in  the  power  of  one  person  to  inflict 


upon  another,  ^ou  are  here  now,  in  defiance  of 
your  most  solemn  obligations,  to  injure  me  fur- 
ther  •,  and  yet — and  yet  you  dare  to  talk  like 
this  !  For  Heaven-s  sake,  let  me  Lear  no  more 
of  it ! " 

"  That  is  just  as  you  please,"  said  he,  with 
a  relapse  into  suikmess. 

Nothing  was  said  after  this  for  several  rnin 
utes.  The  two  figures  stood  silently  facing  each 
other — the  leafless  trees  and  dark  evergreeus  all 
around  them,  and  the  limpid  stream  flowing  at 
their  feet.  Katharine's  bright  winter  costume 
made  a  beautiful  "  bit "  of  color  on  the  some- 
what somore  landscape — her  companion  being, 
in  appearance  at  least,  less  interesting.  Yet  he 
was  not  an  ill-looking  man ;  on  the  contrary, 
many  people  would  have  called  him  handsome, 
and  been  justified  in  doing  so.  He  was,  in  age, 
somewnere  between  twenty-five  and  thirty — cer- 
tainly not  younger  than  the  one  or  older  than 
the  otner  —  he  had  a  slender,  elegant  figure, 
and  a  ciark,  well-modelled  face — a  face  with  a 
good  complexion,  dark  eyes,  thin  lips,  and  a 
paintmly-narrow  forehead.  The  man  was  not  a 
sensualist — no  man  with  that  mouth  could  have 
been — but  a  physiognomist,  looking  at  him, 
would  have  said  that  he  was  selfish  and  unscru- 
pulous, and  in  so  saying  would  not  have  gone 
very  far  wide  of  the  truth.  It  was  Katharine 
who  spoke  first. 

"  You  asked  me  if  I  received  your  letter. 
Did  you  get  my  reply  ?  " 

"  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  have  done  so," 
he  answered.  "  I  left  England  immediately  after 
writing  that  letter.  Was  there  any  thing  of  im- 
portance in  yours  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered,  drearily.  "  I  asked 
you  to  let  me  alone — that  was  all,  I  might  have 
known  how  useless  that  was  —  I  might  have 
known  that  you  never  did,  nor  ever  will  consider 
any  one  but  yourself.  How  did  you  find  out 
where  I  was  ? "  she  added,  turning  upon  him 
suddenly.  "You  gave  me  no  explanation  of 
that,  and  I  don't  understand  how  it  was." 

"  There  are  a  great  many  things  you  don't 
understand,  my  dear  Katharine,"  said  he,  in  a 
patronizing  tone.  "  This  must  remain  one  of 
them.  I  found  out  where  you  were  just  as  I 
should  find  it  out  if  you  were  foolish  enough  to 
go  and  bury  yourself  and  all  your  fine  talents  in 
the  South  Sea  Islands.  I  have  ways  and  means 
— believe  me  it  is  useless  to  attempt  to  hide 
from  me.  I  thought  I  should  never  reach  this 
place,"  he  went  on,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders, "  and  when  I  at  last  arrived,  and  thought 


96 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


all  my  difficulties  were  over,  I  went  to  the  wom- 
an with  whom  you  live,  and  she  told  me — " 

"  What ! "  cried  Katharine,  starting.  "  You 
hare  seen  Mrs.  Marks  ?  " 

"Certainly  I  have,"  answered  he,  coolly, 
"  and  a  dozen  or  so  children,  besides.  It  was 
•he  who  told  me  you  were  here.  Did  you  think 
I  found  it  out  by  instinct  ?  " 

"  And  what  did  you  tell  her  to  account  for 
your  inquiries?"  asked  Katharine,  almost  wring- 
ing her  hands.  "  Oh,  St.  John,  you  surely  have 
not  told  her—" 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  said  he,  roughly.  "  Don't 
make  a  fool  of  yourself  I  Am  I  the  devil,  or  do 
I  look  like  him,  that  you  should  be  so  afraid  of 
claiming  connection  with  me  ?  I  told  the  woman 
— she  looks  like  a  respectable  cook,  by-the-way 
— that  I  was  a  friend  of  yours,  from  England. 
She  was  evidently  very  curious,  but  I  thought 
that  was  enough  for  her." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  tell  her  when  I  go  back, 
and  she  speaks  of  you,  as  she  is  sure  to  do  ?  " 

"  Tell  her  that  I  am  your  brother." 

"  I  will  not,"  cried  she,  indignantly. 

"  Well,  whatever  lie  may  be  convenient,  then. 
I  am  ready  to  play  any  part.  We  might  com- 
promise on  uncle,  since  you  object  to  brother, 
for  I  am  afraid  I  am  rather  young  to  attempt  the 
rtie  of  father." 

"  St.  John,  be  serious,"  she  cried,  with  some- 
thing like  a  sob  in  her  throat.  "  Don't  you  see 
that  I  cannot  bear  such  wretched  trifling.  Oh  ! 
if  you  had  ever  cared  for  me  in  the  least  degree, 
you  would  never  embitter  my  life  like  this  ! " 

"  If  you  had  a  grain  of  common-sense,  you 
would  not  make  such  a  fuss  over  nothing,"  said 
he,  impatiently.  "  Have  I  not  a  right  to  see  you 
when  and  where  I  choose  ?  I  will  go  up  yonder 
among  your  new  associates  and  assert  it,  if  you 
say  BO." 

"  If  yon  dare ! "  said  she,  blazing  out  upon 
him,  wilh  sudden  indignation.  "Yes,  if  you 
dare !  Yon  have  tracked  me  down,  and  I  am 
willing  to  buy  my  peace  of  life  at  any  price  you 
choose  to  ask — short  of  this.  St.  John,"  she 
•aid,  sitting  down  on  a  rustic  seat  near  by, 
"  this  is  too  much  for  me.  Tell  me  at  once 
what  you  want — and — and  let  me  go." 

He  walked  away  from  her  for  a  short  dis- 
tance, biting  his  under  lip  almost  savagely  ;  then 
he  turned  abruptly,  and  came  back. 

"  You  know  what  I  want,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
always  the  same  thing — the  cursed  need  of 
money.  Can  you  let  me  have  any  ?  " 

"  I  can  let  you  have  the  most  of  my  two 


years'  salary,  which  is  in  Mr.  Marks's  hands,  if 
you  will  go  away  then,  and  leave  me  in  peace." 

"  So  you  only  care  to  buy  my  absence,"  he 
said,  with  a  dark  cloud  coming  over  his  face. 

"  Ask  yourself  how  I  can  care  for  any  thing 
else,"  she  answered,  sadly.  "  But  such  as  the 
money  is,  you  are  welcome  to  it.  I  saved  it  for 
you,  and  meant  to  send  it  to  you — so  you  are 
welcome  to  it." 

He  moved  away,  and  took  another  turn — 
came  back  again  and  caught  her  arm. 

"  I  would  not  touch  a  penny  of  it,  if  ruin  was 
not  staring  me  in  the  face,"  he  said.  "  But,  as 
it  is,  I  see  no  other  chance — not  one." 

"Has  that  man — that  Fraser — thrown  you 
off,  then  ?  " 

"  Curse  him,  yes — completely  ! " 

"  And  you  have  only  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  only  you,  or  you  may  be  sure  that  I 
would  not  have  come  for  any  such  greeting  as 
this  has  been." 

She  rose  suddenly  and  held  out  her  hands  to 
him. 

"  Forgive  me,  St.  John,"  she  cried,  with  a 
sudden  pathos  in  her  voice.  "  I  did  not  under- 
stand. I  thought  you  had  come  merely  to  dis- 
turb and  make  me  wretched.  I  will  do  any 
thing  in  the  world  for  you  that  I  can — you  know 
that.  If  you  say  so,  I  will  go  away  with  you, 
and  we  will  try  to  live  together,  and  to  begin  a 
new  life,  in  some  new  place." 

"  And  drag  each  other  down,  like  a  couple 
of  millstones.  That  would  be  wise,  indeed  ! 
No,  I  will  only  be  cur  enough  to  rob  you  of  all 
your  savings,  and  then  I  will  go  away  and  leave 
you  in  the  peace  you  talk  so  much  about.  When 
can  you  let  me  have  the  money  ?  " 

"  To-morrow — I  cannot  see  Mr.  Marks  to-day. 
I  will  meet  you  in  Tallahoma,  or  else  you  can 
come  back  here.  I  will  show  you  a  private  wny 
to  enter  the  grounds,  and  this  is  a  very  retired 
place.  I  shall  have  to  write  a  note.  I  suppose 
you  are  at  the  hotel  ?  " 

"  Yes — registered  as  Mr.  Johns.  Don't  for- 
get that." 

Katharine  flushed.  She  had  an  instinctive 
horror  of  an  alias,  and  this  one  seemed  to  her  so 
unnecessary.  "  Who  would  have  known  the 
other  name  here  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nobody,  probably  ;  but  I  believe  in  precau- 
tionary measures,  always.  Well,  I  shall  look  for 
a  note  to-morrow,  appointing  a  place  where  I  can 
see  yon  again.  I  can  tell  you,  by-the-way,  that 
you  are  putting  yourself  in  a  very  bad  position  by 
this  assignation  business.  It  would  be  much  bet- 


YOU  CANNOT  LET  ME  HELP  YOU? 


97 


ter,  and  much  safer,  to  take  me  to  the  house 
yonder,  and  present  me  as  a  foreign  friend." 

"  I  cannot — I  will  not !  "  she  cried.  "  It 
might  be  better,  perhaps,  but  I  would  rather 
run  more  risk,  and  meet  you  where  nobody  has 
a  right  to  question  who  and  what  you  are." 

"  Just  as  you  please.  It  is  your  own  affair," 
8aid  he,  carelessly.  "  Are  you  coming  to  show 
me  the  private  entrance  you  spoke  of?  I  am 
sure  to  meet  somebody  about  those  large  gates." 

She  went  and  showed  it  to  him — quaking  as 
she  did  so,  lest  some  one  should  meet  them ;  and 
when  he  was  once  safely  beyond  the  boundary 
of  the  grounds,  she  gave  a  deep  sigh  of  relief, 
and  sped  like  an  arrow  toward  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

YOU    CANNOT   LET   ME   HELP  YOU  ? 

WHEN  Katharine  entered  the  hall,  the  sounds 
which  proceeded  from  the  drawing-room  assured 
her  at  once  that  the  vigil  of  the  ladies  was  over, 
and  the  fox-hunters  had  returned.  On  the  stair- 
case the  first  person  she  met  was  Annesley,  who 
was  descending  as  she  went  up.  He  stopped 
and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Tresham,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile.  "  We  are  back  again  in  a  most 
dispirited  and  luckless  condition — dogs  and  all 
fairly  outwitted  by  a  fox.  Won't  you  come  and 
take  a  game  of  billiards,  and  help  me  to  forget 
it?" 

"  Not  just  now,"  said  Katharine,  hardly 
knowing  what  she  was  saying.  "I — I  am  just 
going  to  my  room." 

He  started  a  little,  and  still  holding  her  hand, 
gazed  earnestly  into  her  face. 

"  Something  is  the  matter,"  he  said,  quickly. 
"  I  never  saw  you  so  pale  before.  Katharine — 
Miss  Tresham,  has  anybody  done  any  thing  to 
annoy  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered,  eagerly.  "  Why 
should  you  think  so?  Everybody  is  very  kind. 
There ! — please  let  me  pass.  I  am  not  well." 

"  Something  is  the  matter,"  repeated  he,  still 
oblivious  of  courtesy,  and  keeping  his  place  be- 
fore her.  "  If  you  would  only  tell  me — if  it  is 
any  thing  I  could  set  straight — " 

"  It  is  not  any  thing  you  could  set  straight," 
interrupted  Katharine,  almost  wild  to  get  away. 
**  Mr.  Annesley,  will  you — will  you  please  let  me 
pass  ?  I  have  told  you  I  am  not  well." 

He  moved  aside,  and,  disregarding  the  pained 


look  on  his  face,  she  flew  by,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment he  heard  her  chamber  door  open  and  shut. 

The  young  man  stood  for  a  minute  where 
she  had  left  him — pain  gradually  giving  way  to 
surprise  on  his  face.  Then  he  went  down,  and, 
as  he  crossed  the  hall,  his  mother  came  out  of 
the  library  and  joined  him. 

"  Are  you  going  out,  Morton  ?  "  she  said. 
"  I  will  walk  with  you  a  little  way.  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you." 

"  I  was  not  going  out,"  he  answered ;  "  but  I 
can  go,  if  you  wish  to  speak  to  me." 

Without  any  further  words,  they  passed  out, 
and  took  the  same  path  which  Katharine  and 
Miss  Vernon  had  taken  an  hour  or  two  before. 
After  they  had  gone  a  short  distance,  Mrs.  An- 
nesley was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Was  that  Miss  Tresham  you  met  on  the 
staircase,  Morton  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  Miss  Tresham,"  he  answered, 
and  in  a  moment  it  flashed  across  his  mind  that 
somebody  had  been  guilty  of  slighting  or  annoy- 
ing Katharine,  and  that  his  mother  knew  of  it. 
"  Something  was  the  matter  with  her,"  he  said. 
"  I  never  saw  her  look  so  before.  She  did  not 
seem  like  herself  at  all.  Somebody  must  have 
offended  her,"  continued  the  young  man,  with 
suppressed  anger  in  his  voice.  "  Mother,  if  you 
know  who  it  is,  if  any — " 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Morton,"  said  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley, with  dignity.  "  You  forget  that  you  are 
speaking  of  your  own  guests — of  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen who  are  incapable  of  being  rude  to  any 
one.  Nobody  inside  the  doors  of  Annesdale  has 
done  any  thing  to  wound  or  annoy  Miss  Tresham ; 
but  what  has  occurred  outside  of  them,"  she 
added,  significantly,  "  it  is  quite  beyond  my 
power  to  say." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Morton,  to 
whom  this  distinction  was  quite  unintelligible. 

"  I  mean  that  something  has  happened  which 
I  think  you  ought  to  know.  I  was  in  the  obser- 
vatory an  hour  or  two  ago,  showing  the  view  to 
Mrs.  Dancey,  when  I  happened  to  have  my  atten- 
tion directed  toward  the  entrance  gates.  I  saw 
two  figures  which  I  easily  identified  as  Miss 
Tresham  and  Irene  Vernon  emerge  from  the 
shrubbery  just  as  a  man  was  entering  the  gates 
Of  course,  at  such  a  distance  the  action  was 
rather  confused  to  my  sight,  but  I  could  distin- 
guish very  plainly  that  a  recognition  took  place 
between  the  man  and  Miss  Tresham,  and  that, 
after  Irene  Vernon  had  first  gone  on  alone,  he 
and  she  entered  the  shrubbery  together.  I 
thought  it  singular,  but  nothing  more,  until  I 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


vent  dowu-atairs,  and,  after  a  while,  Irene  came 
in — still  alone.  I  asked  her  what  had  become 
of  Miss  Tresham,  and  she  evaded  the  question. 
It  was  only  when  I  told  her  wnat  I  had  seen, 
that  she  acknowledged  she  had  left  Miss  Tresh- 
am in  the  grounds  with  this  stranger.  She  had 
evidently  been  requested  to  keep  the  matter 
secret,  for  she  begged  me  not  to  mention  it,  and, 
of  course,  I  shall  not  do  so— excepting  to  your- 
self, who  certainly  have  a  right  to  know.  •  When 
you  met  Miss  Tresham,  she  was  just  coming  in  ; 
and  all  this  happened  I  should  be  afraid  to  say 
how  long  before." 

"  Did  Miss  Irene  know  the  man  ?  "  said  Mor- 
ton, speaking  very  grimly. 

"  No,  she  had  never  seen  him  before.  He 
was  a  stranger,  she  said — and  young  and  hand- 
some." 

"And  what  explanation  did  Miss  Tresham 
give  to  her  ?  " 

"  She  did  not  tell  me.  She  was  very  reticent, 
and  evidently  disliked  to  mention  the  matter  at 
all.  I  asked  her  why  she  had  not  urged  Miss 
Tresham  to  bring  her  friend  to  the  house.  She 
replied  she  had  done  so ;  but  that  she — Miss 
Tresham — had  declined." 

"  And  there  is  no  doubt  of  this  ?  "  said  Mor- 
ton at  last,  after  a  pause. 

"There  is  not  the  least  doubt  of  it,"  answered 
his  mother.  Then,  after  a  minute :  "  Morton,  is 
it  not  all  as  I  told  you  ?  Can  such  a  woman  as 
this  be  trusted  ?  " 

"  What  has  this  to  do  with  the  question  of 
her  being  trusted  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Do  you  think 
I  will  doubt  the  woman  who  is  every  thing  to 
me,  because  some  man — some  friend  or  relation, 
perhaps,  of  whom  we  know  nothing — comes  to 
see  her,  and  she,  meeting  him  in  the  open  air, 
keeps  him  there,  instead  of  taking  him  into  a 
house  full  of  people  like  that  yonder?" 

"  But  why  should  she  ask  Irene  Vernon  to 
keep  the  matter  secret,  if  it  was  only  some  friend 
or  some  relation,  as  you  say  ?  " 

"  Did  Miss  Vernon  say  that  she  had  asked 
her?" 

"  No ;  but  I  saw  very  plainly — " 

"  Yon  are  determined  to  see  every  thing 
against  and  nothing  for  her,  mother,"  he  said, 
a  little  wearily.  "  Can't  you  put  the  matter  as 
If  it  concerned  somebody  else  ?— can't  you  see 
that  if  it  did  concern  somebody  else,  you  would 
aot  think  it  of  any  importance  ?  " 

"I  see  that  you  are  wilfully  blind,  and  wil- 
fally  determined  to  go  your  own  way,"  she  an- 
swered. "  Well,  I  have  done  my  duty — I  have 


warned  you.  Since  you  will  not  heed  the  warn- 
ing, you  must  pay  the  penalty  of  your  obstinacy 
and  folly,  but  my  heart  sinks  when  I  consider 
what  a  penalty  it  will  be.  We  had  better  go 
back  to  the  house  now — I  have  a  great  deal  to 
do." 

They  went  back  to  the  house,  and  did  not 
speak  of  the  subject  again  ;  but,  though  Morton 
had  so  summarily  silenced  his  mother,  he  could 
not  silence  the  thoughts  of  his  own  mind,  or  the 
throbs  of  his  own  heart.  "  What  did  it  mean  ?  " 
he  asked  himself  again  and  again,  with  the  same 
feeling  which  had  overpowered  him  when  that 
letter,  which  had  been  the  direct  consequence  of 
his  mother's  act,  had  dropped  from  the  pages  of 
the  "  Adelaide."  His  perplexity  was  not  ended, 
nor  his  anxiety  stilled,  by  the  fact  that  Miss 
Tresham  did  not  appear  again  that  day.  She 
was  lying  down — she  had  a  headache,  he  was 
told,  when  he  inquired  about  her  ;  and,  with  this 
most  unsatisfactory  information,  he  was  obliged 
to  be  content,  and  make,  or  try  to  make,  himself 
agreeable  to  a  score  or  more  of  people.  It  was 
fine  social  training,  no  doubt,  but  very  unpleas- 
ant in  the  process.  Any  thing  that  teaches  you 
to  conceal  your  feelings,  and  smile  in  the  face 
of  the  world  when  your  heart  is  breaking — if 
hearts  ever  do  break  ! — is  considered  a  benefit ; 
and,  certainly,  Morton  made  great  strides  in  this 
branch  of  social  art  that  day.  He  had  to  hear  a 
great  many  remarks  from  other  people,  too ;  for 
Langdon,  Talcott  and  Co.,  were  quite  concerned 
for  Miss  Tresham's  indisposition,  and  kept  say- 
ing how  very  unlucky  it  was,  and  the  ball  that 
night,  too  !  "  There  is  no  danger  but  that  she 
will  be  well  enough  for  the  ball,"  said  Miss  Les- 
ter, who  heard  some  remark  of  this  description. 
"  What !  any  girl  in  her  souses  stay  away  from 
the  ball — and  such  a  ball,  too !  I'll  believe  it 
when  I  see  it,  and  if  you  care  to  wager,  Cousin 
Tom,  I'll  bet  you  a  new  collar  for  Spitfire,  that 
she  comes  down  ! " 

"  I'll  wager,  certainly,  Maggie,"  said  Cousin 
Tom.  "  A  new  collar  for  Spitfire,  is  it  ? — against 
what  ?  " 

"  Oh,  any  thing  you  choose.  Shall  we  say  a 
purse?  I  wouldn't,  if  I  was  not  sure  that  I 
shall  not  have  the  trouble  of  making  it." 

"  A  purse,  then,"  said  he,  taking  out  his 
note-book,  anH  entering  an  imposing  register 
of  the  wager. 

Dinner  was  early  that  day,  for  the  hall  was  to 
come  off  in  the  evening,  and  it  was  necessary 
that  the  whole  force  of  the  establishment  should 
be  employed  in  preparation.  This  was  the  ball 


YOU  CANNOT  LET  ME  HELP  YOU? 


99 


of  which  Katharine  had  spoken  to  Mrs.  Gordon, 
of  which  she  had  thought  as  the  first  and  great- 
est item  in  her  Christmas  enjoyment ;  and  now 
it  was  with  a  sick  heart  and  a  throbbing  head 
that  she  faced  the  prospect  of  it,  and  the  neces- 
sity of  rising  to  dress.  As  she  lay  on  her  bed 
with  the  room  darkened,  the  fire  burning  with  a 
soft,  crackling  content,  a  wet  handkerchief  over 
her  aching  eyes,  and  a  bottle  of  cologne-water 
in  her  hand,  some  despairing  thoughts  on  the 
perversity  of  human  circumstances  occurred  to 
her.  She  had  come  to  Annesdale  meaning  to 
leave  her  weight  of  anxiety  behind,  and  to  en- 
joy herself  for  a  short  time  with  the  natural  en- 
joyment of  youth ;  and  all  of  a  sudden  every 
thing  was  dashed  with  bitterness !  Poor  Katha- 
rine !  Very  stern  troubles  were  staring  her  in 
the  face,  but  still  she  had  time  to  give  a  sigh  to 
her  murdered  pleasure.  "  If  it  had  only  been 
the  day  after  the  ball ! "  she  thought  to  herself 
— and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  she  will  not  be  ac- 
counted utterly  frivolous  for  doing  so  ! 

She  had  at  last  risen  languidly,  and  was  look- 
ing with  critical  attention  in  the  mirror,  regard- 
ing her  pale  cheeks,  her  red  eyes,  and  her  swollen 
nose,  wondering  if  it  would  be  possible  to  bring 
all  these  features  into  order,  or  if  she  had  not 
better  make  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  resign  the 
ball,  when  the  door  opened  and  Miss  Lester  en- 
tered. 

"  So  you  are  up ! "  cried  this  young  lady,  in 
her  liveliest  tone.  "  I  am  glad  of  that — glad 
because  you  are  better,  and  because  I  have  a 
wager  on  your  going  to  the  ball.  You  are  going, 
are  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  was  just  considering  about  it,"  said 
Katharine,  doubtfully,  "  Come  and  tell  me 
what  you  think.  I  am  looking  frightfully,  you 
see." 

"I  don't  see  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  said 
Miss  Lester,  whose  opinion  was  rather  biassed 
by  personal  interest.  "  Your  eyes  are  red  and 
— your — nose — a  little.  But  that  is  because 
you  have  been  crying.  If  you  don't  cry  any 
more,  by  the  time  you  are  dressed  they  will  be 
all  right.  Then  you  are  pale ;  but  a  little  rouge 
— do  you  ever  use  rouge  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  You  don't  think  it  a  sin,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  any  thing  about  it.  As  a 
matter  of  personal  taste,  I  don't  like,  and  don't 
use  it — that  is  all.  I  confess,  however,  that  the 
sight  of  it  affects  me  very  much  in  the  same 
way  that  a  coarse  perfume  does.  The  two  things 
fclways  seem  to  me  to  go  together." 


"  I  don't  use  it  myself,"  said  Miss  Lester, 
philosophically,  "  but  a  great  many  girls  do.  I 
have  a  cousin  who  paints  dreadfully.  However, 
paleness  is  becoming  to  you — you  are  generally 
pale — and  I  think  you  might  go  down.  Dancing 
will  soon  give  you  a  color.  If  any  personal  ar- 
guments are  needed,  Cousin  Tom  is  half  crazy  to 
see  you,  and  Spitfire  will  get  a  new  collar  if  you 
go." 

Katharine  thought  of  the  unwelcome  visitor 
whom  Spitfire  had  forced  upon  her  notice  that 
morning,  and  felt  very  little  of  the  grateful 
esteem  which  would  have  made  her  anxious  to 
secure  a  new  collar  for  him.  But  still  she  suf- 
fered herself  to  be  persuaded — especially  as  she 
did  not  need  very  much  persuasion — and,  after 
a  short  gossip  in  the  fading  twilight,  the  serious 
business  of  the  toilet  began. 

The  ballroom  at  Annesdale  formed  a  wing 
of  the  main  building,  and  had  been  built  by 
Morton  since  affairs  came  into  his  hands.  It 
was  a  large,  and  (for  a  ballroom),  decidedly 
tasteful  apartment — ornamented  sufficiently  to 
avoid  the  look  of  disagreeable  bareness,  yet  not 
overloaded  by  any  means,  and  with  every  facility 
for  light  and  warmth.  It  was  a  beautiful  apart- 
ment, Katharine  thought,  as  she  entered  it  for 
the  first  time  that  evening,  and  saw  the  lofty 
ceiling  painted  in  brilliant  fresco,  the  double  line 
of  columns  down  the  sides,  the  heavy  green  gar- 
lands that  swung  in  festoons  from  one  to  another, 
and  the  lights  glittering  in  every  direction,  shin- 
ing on  the  scarlet  holly-berries,  and  reflected 
back  from  the  smoothly-waxed  floor.  On  a 
raised  stand  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room  the 
band  was  pealing  forth  a  march,  and  the  guests, 
who  had  been  lingering  in  the  drawing-rooms,  in 
the  green-house,  in  the  library,  in  every  place 
that  was  thrown  open  to  the  public,  began  to 
pour  in.  A  few  couples  were  promenading  in 
time  to  those  strains,  but  with  the  majority  there 
was  an  exciting  rush  to  make  engagements,  and 
secure  a  desirable  position  in  certain  desirable 
ball-books. — "  Are  you  engaged  for  the  third  set, 
Miss  Josephine  ?  " — "  May  I  have  the  fifth  on 
your  list,  Miss  Annie  ?  " — "  Stand  back,  Tom,  I 
have  a  word  or  two  to  say — Miss  Mary,  mayn't  I 
have  the  second  ?  " — "  Bella,  I  wish  you  would 
remember  that  mamma  don't  like  you  to  waltz." 
— "  Certainly,  Mr.  Ford,  you  can  have  the  pleas- 
ure  of — the  tenth  set,  did  you  say  ?  " — "  Dancey, 
who  is  your  partner  for  the  first  cotillon '{ — Get 
one,  man,  in  a  hurry,  and  be  our  vis-d-vis — Misa 
Nelly's  and  mine." — "  Stop  there,  George,  stop 
— come  here  and  help  us  to  make  up  a  set." — 


100 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


w  A  polka,  did  you  say,  Mr.  Anderson  ?  I  never 
iauce  the  round  dances." 

AH  this  was  sounding  at  once  in  Katharine's 
ears,  as  she  stood  near  a  large  pillar,  looking 
Tory  pale  and  pretty  in  her  white  dress,  wreathed 
with  blue  convolvulus,  when  Annesley  came  up 
to  her. 

44  I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere," 
he  said,  hastily,  "  and  I  have  only  time  for  a 
word.  Will  you  give  me  the  second  set,  and 
save  two  or  three  more  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  give  you  the  second  set,"  she  an- 
swered. "  It  is  Mr.  Talcott's." 

"  The  third,  then  ?  " 

"  That  belongs  to  Mr.  Hallam." 

"  The  fourth — fifth — sixth— any  thing !  Per- 
mit me — "  he  suddenly  leaned  forward,  and, 
taking  the  little  ivory  toy  that  hung  at  her 
waist,  ran  his  eye  rapidly  over  the  list  of  en- 
gagements, scribbled  his  initials  in  two  or  three 
vacant  places,  then,  with  a  smile  and  a  "  Thank 
you,"  was  gone.  A  moment  later,  Mr.  Langdon 
left  the  side  of  a  young  lady  with  whom  he  was 
negotiating  for  a  waltz,  and  claimed  Katharine's 
band  for  the  dance  about  to  commence.  The 
measure  of  the  music  changed,  the  confused  mass 
of  figures  formed  into  magical  squares,  the  wall- 
flowers of  both  sexes  fell  back  and  clustered 
around  or  beyond  the  columns,  and  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  evening  began  in  earnest.  To  Kath- 
arine it  would  have  been  like  enchantment,  at 
another  time ;  but  now,  above  the  sound  of  the 
music,  the  tread  of  dancing  feet,  the  shifting 
to-and-fro  of  brightly-clad  forms,  she  saw  one 
face  and  heard  one  voice  that  banished  all  gayety 
from  her  heart,  and  took  all  lightness  from  her 
•tep.  Despite  her  efforts  to  the  contrary,  she 
seemed  so  unlike  herself  that  her  appearance 
struck  a  gentleman  standing  near  the  set  in 
which  she  was  dancing,  a  gentleman  whose  tall 
head  towered  somewhat  above  the  throng  of 
lookers-on — for  all  La  Grange  was  in  force  there 
that  night,  the  county  people  thinking  nothing 
of  a  ten-miles'  drive  to  Mrs.  Annesley's  Christ- 
mas ball.  His  intent  gaze  caught  Katharine's 
attention  at  last.  In  the  course  of  chatgeing 
back  and  forth,  she  looked  up,  saw  him,  and 
smiled.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Warwick  1 "  she  said,  in  a 
Vone  that  surprised  her  partner. 

"  Mr. — who  f  "  he  asked,  looking  round. 

"  Mr.  Warwick,"  answered  Katharine,  still 
nailing,  and  nodding  to  Mr.  Warwick  across  the 
*«t  "  I  am  so  glad  to  «ce  him,"  she  went  on. 
"  It  is  like  a  home-face  in  the  midst  of  strangers. 
I  must  speak  to  him  as  soon  as  the  cotillon  is 


over.     I  want  to  ask  about  Mrs.  Marks,  and  th« 
children,  and  all  of  them.     I  feel — " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and  her  face  changed 
so  much  that  her  companion  absolutely  stared. 
A  sharp  recollection  came  to  her  of  the  differ- 
ence that  these  few  days  had  made  in  her  life,  of 
the  man  who  had  seen  Mrs.  Marks,  and  the  in- 
quiries which  would  meet  her  when  she  returned 
to  the  familiar  house  in  Tallahoma.  Of  course 
Mr.  Langdon  understood  none  of  this,  and,  seeing 
her  hesitate  and  turn  pale,  he  at  once  conceived 
a  suspicion  of  Mr.  Warwick,  and  glanced  across 
the  room  at  that  gentleman.  Being  somewhat 
reassured  by  his  sedate,  middle-aged  appearance, 
he  took  up  Katharine's  sentence. 

44  You  feel— what  ?    Not  home-sick,  I  trust  ?  " 

44  I  feel  as  if  it  had  been  such  a  long  time 
since  I  left  home,"  she  answered,  absently. 
"  That  is  always  the  case,  you  know,  when  on* 
has  been  among  new  scenes  and  new  people.- 
First  gentleman  and  lady,  did  they  say  ?  Yoi 
are  the  first  gentleman,  Mr.  Langdon." 

Meanwhile,  Morton  was  dancing  with  Miss 
Vernon,  in  quite  another  set,  at  the  upper  end 
of  the  room.  lie  thought,  and  so  did  a  great 
many  other  people,  that  Irene  had  never  looked 
more  lovely  than  on  that  night.  Fashions 
change  very  much  in  thirty  years,  and  to  de- 
scribe her  costume  would  probably  be  to  bring 
a  dreadful  picture  before  the  eyes  of  to-day  ;  but 
everybody  said  how  charmingly  she  was  dressed, 
and  certainly  the  shining  pink  silk  that  she 
wore,  with  rich  point  lace  falling  from  her  shoul- 
ders, was  as  becoming  as  possible.  Then  her 
cheeks  were  flushed,  and  her  eyes  were  bright, 
and  her  hair  looked  like  spun  gold,  as  it 
gleamed  about  her  graceful  head.  Morton,  who 
had  never  thought  very  much  about  her  beauty, 
suddenly  opened  his  eyes,  and  admired  it  with 
quite  a  fervor  of  enthusiasm.  "  I  never  saw  you 
look  so  well,"  he  could  not  help  telling  her  more 
than  once  —  though  the  remark  strictly  inter- 
preted was  any  thing  but  a  compliment. 

"  Perhaps  you  never  looked  at  me  before," 
she  said,  though  she  hated  herself  for  saying  it. 
"  Nobody  else  seems  to  think  that  I  am  looking 
unusually  well  to-night." 

41  Shall  we  take  a  vote  on  the  question,  for  I 
don't  fancy  the  imputation  of  being  a  mole  or  a 
bat?"  , 

44  No,  thank  you.  I'll  take  the  fact  of  my 
unusual  good  looks  or  your  unusual  good-nature, 
for  granted,  in  preference  to  that.  A  propos  of 
appearance,  don't  you  think  Miss  Tresham  is 
looking  very  well  ?  " 


YOU  CANNOT  LET  ME  HELP  YOU  ? 


101 


"Very  pretty,  but  not  very  well.  She  is  too 
pale." 

"  Yes,  but  she  is  one  of  the  few  people  to 
whom  pallor  is  becoming.  And  those  morning- 
glories  —  are  they  not  beautiful  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Morton,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
the  morning-glories  in  question,  as  their  wearer 
moved  forward  in  the  dance.  Then  he  saw  his 
way  to  a  sudden  inquiry,  and  made  it  without 
loss  of  time. 

"  I  met  Miss  Tresham  on  the  staircase  this 
morning,  just  after  my  return,  and  she  seemed 
very  much  distressed  and  agitated.  I  hope 
nothing  unpleasant  occurred  while  you  and  she 
were  in  the  grounds  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Miss  Vernon,  with  a 
reticence  that  did  not  escape  his  observation. 
"  How  did  you  know  that  I  was  in  the  grounds 
•with  her  ?  "  she  added,  with  a  keen  glance  at  him. 

"  My  mother  told  me,"  he  answered.  "  Don't 
think  that  I  was  busying  myself  with  matters 
which  did  not  concern  me,"  he  added,  with  a 
quick  flush  coming  over  his  face  ;  "  but  when 
I  met  Miss  Tresham,  I  saw  at  once  that  some- 
thing had  annoyed  her,  and  I  thought  it  might 
be  something  I  could  remedy,  so  I  went  to  my 
mother"  —  at  the  moment,  Morton  really  forgot 
that  his  mother  had  gone  to  him  —  "  and  she  told 
me  that  you  had  been  with  Miss  Tresham,  and 
mentioned  that  she  met  some  one  —  " 

"  I  did  not  mention  it  at  all,"  interrupted 
Miss  Vernon,  bluntly.  "  Miss  Tresham  asked 
me  —  that  is,  I  thought  it  likely  she  would  not 
care  for  me  to  speak  of  the  matter,  so  I  was 
sorry  Mrs.  Annesley  had  seen  the  —  the  person 
come  in  the  gate.  I  answered  her  questions, 
that  was  all.  I  shall  not  answer  yours,  Mr.  An- 
nesley, so  I  beg  you  won't  ask  any." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  ask  any,"  said  Morton,  a 
little  amused.  "  I  would  not  think  of  such  a 
thing  as  meddling  with  Miss  Tresham's  affairs. 
But  she  seemed  so  much  agitated  —  " 

"  Things  agitate  at  one  time,  that  would  have 
no  effect  at  another,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  coolly. 
"  I  should  probably  be  agitated  if  I  was  living 
in  Russia  and  you  suddenly  appeared  before  me 
—  though  there  is  nothing  at  all  agitating  in  see- 
ing you  here,  you  know." 

"  I  understand.  But  Miss  Tresham  I  am  sure 
can  have  no  reason  for  concealing  —  " 

Miss  Vernon  interrupted  him  again,  remorse- 


"  Miss  Tresham  did  not  ask  me  to  conceal  any 
thing,  Mr.  Annesley  ;  but  I  have  learned  by  expe- 
rience that  silence  is  golden,  and  speech  is  silver 


— or  base  copper,  rather,  when  it  takes  the  form 
of  silly  tattling.  I  do  as  I  would  be  done  by. 
There  are  many  reasons  which  might  make  me 
wish  to  conceal — that's  a  hateful  word  ! — the 
visit  of  some  embarrassing  friend  or  relation, 
from  people  who  had  no  right  of  espionage 
over  my  conduct,  and  so  I  am  not  quick  to 
suspect  other  people  for  doing  the  same  thing." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Morton,  before  he  knew 
what  he  was  about.  Then  he  added,  with  a 
blush  :  "  You  don't  know  how  much  I  admire 
and  respect  such  sentiments.  There  are  not 
many  women  like  you,  Miss  Vernon." 

"  There  are  thousands  much  better,"  said 
Miss  Vernon,  with  a  sharpness  that  quite  took 
him  by  surprise. 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  the 
cotillon  ended,  the  last  bows  were  made,  and, 
as  Mr.  Langdon  was  leading  Katharine  away, 
Mr.  Warwick  came  up  to  her. 

"  Shall  we  go  into  the  drawing-room  and  get 
an  ice  ?  "  the  obliging  Cousin  Tom  was  saying, 
when  he  found  himself  summarily  put  aside. 
"  Mr.  Warwick ! — I  am  so  glad  to  see  you," 
Katharine  cried ;  and  Mr.  Warwick  looked  at 
her  companion,  as  he  said :  "  I  have  a  great 
many  messages  for  you,  from  Bessie  and  the 
children.  Do  you  care  about  hearing  them  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  answered  she,  warmly ;  and 
upon  this,  she  withdrew  her  hand  from  Mr.  Lang- 
don's  arm,  and  took  instead  the  one  Mr.  Warwick 
offered. 

"  I  will  see  you  again,  when  the  fourth  set 
comes  round,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  to  the 
former  gentleman,  and  in  this  way  he  found 
himself  deserted,  just  as  he  had  flattered  him- 
self with  the  expectation  of  a  pleasantly  unin- 
terrupted tete-d-tete. 

"So  Annesdale  and  all  its  gayety  has  not 
made  you  forget  Tallahoma  and  the  school- 
room ? "  said  Mr.  Warwick,  as  they  walked 
away.  "  I  could  hardly  realize  that  you  were 
yourself,  when  I  saw  you  dancing  a  little  while 
ago." 

"  '  If  I  am  I,  as  I  do  think  I  be,'  "  said  Kath. 
arine,  with  a  laugh,  "  I  have  certainly  not  for- 
gotten the  school-room,  or  anybody  connected 
with  it,  Mr.  Warwick.  How  is  Mrs.  Marks,  and 
how  are  the  children  ? — did  Sara  and  Katy  go 
to  see  their  aunt  ? — and  has  Nelly's  cough  given 
any  more  trouble  ?  " 

"  Bessie  and  all  the  children  are  well,  and 
sent  you  more  love  than  I  could  carry — Katy 
and  Sara  did  not  go  to  their  aunt's,  and  Nelly's 
cough  is  quite  well,  I  believe." 


102 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


M  Has  nothing  happened  since  I  went  away  ? 
I  feel  as  if  a  great  deal  ought  to  have  happened." 

"  I  think  every  thing  has  gone  on  exactly  as 
nsu.il,  excepting  that  it  may  compliment  you  to 
hear  that  you  have  been  very  much  missed  by 
everybody.  When  Dick  cut  his  hand  the  other 
day,  he  disgraced  his  manhood  by  crying  because 
you  were  not  there  to  bandage  it  up." 

44  Has  Dick  cut  his  hand  ?  I  am  so  sorry. 
How  did  he  do  it?" 

"  I  was  foolish  enough  to  give  him  a  box  of 
tools  as  a  Christmas-gift,  and  the  result  was 
three  accidents  in  the  course  of  as  many  days. 
Katy  was  very  anxious  to  come  with  me  to- 
night." 

"  I  wish  you  could  have  brought  her,"  said 
Katharine,  sincerely. 

They  had  left  the  ballroom  by  this  time,  and 
were  in  the  drawing-room,  which  was  thronged 
with  people  laughing,  talking,  eating  ices,  mak- 
ing picture-like  groups  everywhere. 

"  Is  there  a  quiet  spot  to  be  found  any- 
where?" asked  Mr.  Warwick,  looking  round. 
"  Twenty  years  ago,  I  might  have  liked  this 
kind  of  thing ;  but  now  I  find  that  I  am  very 
much  out  of  my  element.  You  know  those  mes- 
sages I  told  you  about.  Is  there  a  quiet  place  in 
which  I  could  deliver  them  ?  " 

"Suppose  we  try  the  library,"  said  Kath- 
arine. 

They  crossed  the  hall  to  the  library,  and 
found  only  one  or  two  whist-parties  in  posses- 
sion of  it.  At  the  farther  end,  a  sofa  was  fitted 
into  a  sort  of  alcove  between  two  bookcases, 
and  to  this  Katharine  led  the  way.  She  sat 
down  first,  nnd  looked  up  at  her  companion  out 
of  the  soft  gloom — her  white  dress  and  the 
blue  flowers  in  her  hair  showing  in  bright  re- 
lief against  the  dark  background. 

"  Will  not  this  do  ?  "  said  she,  smiling ;  and 
somehow  the  little  scene  came  back  to  John 
Warwick  long  afterward,  touching  him  again  as 
it  touched  him  then. 

"  Yes,  it  will  do  very  well,"  he  said,  sitting 
down  by  her.  Then  he  added,  suddenly,  "  You 
are  looking  very  badly.  Have  you  been  sick  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  she,  growing  a  little 
paler.  "  I  have  been  quite  well,  and  enjoying 
myself  very  much.  Do  you  know  that  you  have 
terribly  keen  eyes  ?  "  she  added,  trying  to  laugh, 
and  not  succeeding  very  well. 

"I  hope  I   have  serviceable  eyes,"  he  an- 
«w?red;  "but  it  would  not  require  very  keen  i 
ones  to  soe  that  something  is  the  matter  with  \ 
you.     If  you  have  not  been  sick,  you  have  been  i 


worried — and  that  is  worse.  I  may  be  blunder 
ing  in  speaking  of  it,"  he  went  on,  "  and,  if  so, 
you  must  forgive  me,  but  I  was  struck  by  the 
change  in  your  appearance  when  I  saw  you 
dancing." 

"  I  have  been  sick  all  day,"  said  Katharine, 
forgetting  her  contrary  assertion  of  a  moment 
back.  "  That  is,  I  have  had  a  headache  and 
been  in  bed  with  it.  One  does  not  look  very 
well  after  a  thing  of  that  kind." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  regarding  her  with 
a  pair  of  eyes  which,  for  the  first  time,  she  found 
uncomfortably  penetrating.  "  If  you  have  been 
in  bed  all  day,"  he  added,  "  I  suppose  you  did 
not  see  a  visitor,  who  called  at  Bessie's  this 
morning,  and  whom  she  directed  here  ?  " 

Dim  as  the  light  was,  he  noticed — he  could 
not  avoid  noticing — the  crimson  tide  which  in  a 
moment  spread  over  her  face  and  neck. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him,"  she  answered ;  and,  as 
she  spoke,  she  gave  a  piteous,  imploring  glance, 
that  reminded  him  of  the  look  sometimes  seen 
in  an  animal's  eyes  before  the  knife  of  the 
butcher  descends  and  strikes  home  to  the  heart. 
Its  unconscious  pathos  touched  him ;  but  the 
lawyer  in  his  composition  enabled  him  to  perse- 
vere. 

"  Bessie's  curiosity  was  quite  excited,"  he 
said.  "  You  know  it  takes  very  little  to  excite 
her,  and  it  seems  that  the  gentleman — whom  she 
described  as  young  and  handsome — asked  many 
questions  about  you.  That  was  enough  to  form 
the  groundwork  of  a  romance,  which  she  has 
been  building  ever  since.  Her  only  fear  is,  that 
you  may  be  induced  to  leave  her,  and  that,  she 
says,  would  break  her  heart." 

"  Mrs.  Marks  is  very  good,"  said  Katharine, 
forcing  a  smile.  "  But  she  need  not  fear.  I  am 
not  likely  to  go  away.  The  gentleman  who 
called  to  see  me  was " — a  pause,  and  a  great 
gulp  of  rage  and  self-contempt — "was  a  person 
whom  I  knew  in  England." 

"  So  he  said,"  remarked  Mr.  Warwick,  rather 
dryly. 

"  I  hope  he  did  not  annoy  Mrs  Marks  in  any 
way?"  said  Katharine,  catching  the  intonation 
of  his  voice.  "  I — I  do  not  think  she  is  likely 
to  see  him  again.  He  will  leave  Tallahoma  in  a 
few  days — to-morrow,  perhaps." 

"  He  did  no*  annoy  her  at  all,"  Mr.  Warwick 
answered.  "  I  hope  I  have  not  said  any  thing  to 
make  you  think  so." 

There  was  a  pause  after  this.  Katharine 
felt  faint  and  sick,  but  she  kept  her  scut — what- 
ever he  should  say  next,  she  must  be  ready  to 


MK.  WARWICK'S  NEW   CLIENT. 


103 


answer.  Mr.  Warwick,  meanwhile,  said  nothing 
—his  face  looked  somewhat  severe,  as  he  gazed 
past  her ;  but  that  was  its  usual  expression  when 
at  rest.  In  this  lull,  the  voices  of  the  whist- 
players  sounded. 

"  Three  by  cards,  and  two  by  honors,  sets  us 
five,  and  four  before,  is  nine." 

"  You  should  have  returned  my  lead  of 
spades,  Mr.  Barry,  and  we  might  have — " 

"  If  you  had  led  out  trumps,  as  you  ought  to 
have  done,"  cried  an  excited  voice  from  the  other 
table,  "  they  could  not  have  made  a  trick.  I 
held  every  high  diamond,  sir,  and  every  one  of 
them  trumped ! " 

"  We  threw  away  the  game  by  that  play  of 
hearts,  Mrs.  Dargan.  It  gave  them  the  lead,  and 
then — " 

This  was  the  kind  of  talk  which  came  in  and 
bridged  over  Katharine's  suspense.  It  is  aston- 
ishing how  oddly  conscious  people  are  of  such 
things  at  such  times.  When  the  last  great 
struggle  comes,  and  the  soul  is  about  to  go 
forth,  shall  we,  even  then,  hear  and  notice  the 
bird  that  sings  at  our  window,  and  the  child 
who  laughs  in  the  street  below  ? 

"  Miss  Trcsham,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  turning 
round  abruptly,  "  do  you  remember  the  day  we 
walked  out  to  the  pond,  and  I  told  you  that  some- 
thing was  preying  on  your  health  and  spirits  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Katharine  answered,  "  I  remember 
it." 

"  And  do  you  also  remember  that  I  asked 
you  if  I  could  do  any  thing  to  relieve  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Warwick,  I  remember  that  also — 
very  gratefully." 

"  Well,  I  don't  wish  to  force  your  confidence, 
but  one  glance  at  your  face  to-night  told  me  that 
the  anxiety  which  I  saw  then  had  made  greater 
strides — had,  in  fact,  been  realized.  As  I  told 
you  before,  if  it  is  any  thing  relating  to  ideal 
troubles,  I  can  do  nothing  for  you ;  but  if  it  is 
real — if  it  is  practical — Miss  Tresham,  remember 
that  I  am  both  a  man  and  a  lawyer,  and  that, 
m  either  character,  I  am  ready  to  serve  you." 

"  Mr.  Warwick,  you  are  very  good — you  are 
more  than  good,"  said  Katharine,  almost  ready 
to  give  way  to  the  childish  relief  of  tears. 
"  Don't — please  don't  think  me  ungrateful.  I 
feel  your  kindness  in  my  very  heart,  and — and 
thank  you  for  it.  But  I  cannot  do  any  thing 
eise." 

"  You  cannot  let  me  help  you  ?  " 

"  No — I  cannot." 

That  ended  the  matter.  After  a  minute,  Mr. 
Warwick  rose  ana  offered  his  arm.  "  Your  part- 


ners will  be  looking  for  you,"  he  said.  "  I  must 
not  monopolize  you  so  long.  Have  you  any 
message  for  Bessie  ?  " 

"  My  best  love,  and  tell  her  I  will  see  her  to- 
morrow." 

"  What,  are  you  coming  back  to  Tallaho- 
ma?" 

"  Not  to  stay — I  promised  to  remain  here 
until  after  New- Year — but  on  business.  There 
is  Mr.  Talcott  coming  for  me  now." 

'"I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere, 
Miss  Tresham,"  said  Mr.  Talcott,  quite  breath- 
less.  "  The  dancing  began  some  time  ago,  and 
I  am  afraid  we  shall  not  get  a  place  unless  we 
make  haste." 

"  Don't  let  me  detain  you,"  said  Mr.  War. 
wick.  "  Good-night." 

"  Shall  I  not  see  you  again  ?  " 

"  No,  I  only  looked  in  to  be  able  to  tell  Bessie 
how  you  are  getting  on.  I  am  going  back  to 
town  now." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  Katharine 
had  no  further  glimpse  of  him  that  night ;  but 
amid  all  the  music  and  dancing,  the  gay  voices 
and  bright  smiles,  his  voice  sounded,  and  she 
heard  again  and  again  the  words,  "  You  cannot 
let  me  help  you  ?  "  Her  heart  gave  back  an  an- 
swer, for  every  now  and  then  she  caught  herself 
murmuring,  "  If  I  only  could  ! — ah,  if  I  only 
could ! " 


CHAPTER  XX. 
MK.  WARWICK'S  NEW  CLIENT. 

ABOUT  the  time  that  Katharine  threw  herself 
down  on  the  bed,  and  was  foolish  enough  to  cry 
until  she  made  her  head  ache,  Babette  was  tramp- 
ing along  the  road  which  led  from  Tallahoma  to 
Morton  House.  She  had  been  sent  on  an  errand 
by  her  mistress,  and  was  returning  with  two  or 
three  large  parcels  under  her  arm,  disdainfully 
regardless  of  the  fact  that  she  was  the  object  of 
much  attention  and  remark  on  the  part  of  sev- 
eral small  boys  in  her  rear.  They  knew  better 
than  to  come  within  reach  of  her  hand,  of  which 
more  than  one  of  them  had  felt  the  weight ;  but, 
taking  care  to  keep  at  a  respectful  distance,  they 
followed  her  beyond  the  corporate  limits.  In- 
deed, Babette  was  a  sufficiently  remarkable  figure 
to  excite  attention  in  a  place  much  more  used  to 
remarkable  figures  than  quiet  Tallahoma.  Be- 
sides her  usual  foreign  costume,  she  had,  in  con- 
sideration of  the  muddy  state  of  the  roads. 


104 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


mounted  a  pair  of  sabots,  and  in  them  she  went 
boldly  clattering  along,  with  ter  dress  tucked 
up  even  shorter  than  the  walking-skirt  of  a 
fashionable  girl  of  the  present  day.  "  Good 
gracious,  aunty,  where'd  you  get  your  shoes  ?  " 
more  than  one  audacious  boy  inquired ;  but 
aunty's  short  nose  only  went  a  little  higher  in 
the  air,  and  her  keen  black  eyes  only  gave  a  lit- 
tle quicker  gleam  by  way  of  reply.  Her  fierce 
appearance  quite  awed  the  good  folk  of  the  vil- 
lage. They  had  an  idea  that  she  was  a  sort  of 
dragoness,  whom  Mrs.  Gordon  had  imported  for 
special  guard  and  defence.  Poor  Babette,  whose 
temper  was  irascible,  but  who  was  really  of  an 
excellent  disposition,  and  whose  appearance  only 
was  against  her,  had  no  idea  that  when  she 
walked  into  a  shop,  with  her  large  gold  ear-rings 
bobbing  on  each  side  of  her  swarthy,  stern-look- 
ing  face,  the  clerks  fairly  quaked,  and  would 
have  given  any  thing  to  avoid  the  perilous  duty 
of  serving  her. 

She  was  well  served,  however ;  and  she  had 
made  her  purchases  and  was  finally  on  her  way 
home — tramping  along  the  narrow  foot-path  that 
ran  by  the  side  of  the  muddy  road,  close  under 
the  zigzag  rail-fences,  humming  to  herself  in 
French  a  sort  of  jingling  refrain,  and  now  and 
then  casting  looks  of  defiance  behind  to  see  if 
any  of  her  troublesome  train  were  in  sight. 
They  had  given  up  the  pursuit,  she  found  at 
last,  and  the  gates  of  Morton  House  were  al- 
most in  sight  when  a  man's  figure  appeared, 
advancing  with  quick  strides  along  the  foot-path 
toward  her.  Babette  hardly  noticed  him,  her 
head  being  full  of  other  things,  for  she  was  mak- 
ing a  rough  calculation  mentally  of  the  money 
•he  Lad  spent,  and  deciding  that  she  had  been 
cheated  beyond  that  point  where  forbearance  is 
•aid  to  be  a  virtue.  It  was  all  her  mistress's 
fault,  however.  She  had  bidden  her  buy  the 
things,  and  never  mind  about  the  price.  "  Eh 
bien,  if  people  will  be  extravagant  1 "  Babette 
said  to  herself  with  a  shrug.  Meanwhile,  the 
gentleman  was  thinking  just  as  little  of  this 
Btrangely-clad  figure  clattering  along  the  road  to 
meet  him.  In  fact,  he  did  not  notice  her  at  all. 
He  was  thinking  of  other  things,  too,  and  gnaw- 
ing his  under  lip  as  he  had  gnawed  it  in  speaking 
of  the  money  a  little  while  before.  It  would  be 
hard  to  tell  which  of  them  was  thrilled  with  the 
strangest  shock  of  surprise  when  they  came  sud- 
lenly  face  to  face,  and,  looking  up,  recognized 
each  other. 

"  Mon  Dieu  I "  gasped  Babette,  and  the  par- 
•eli  absolutely  rolled  out  of  her  aims  into  the 


mud,  as  she  stood  helpless  and  aghast  before 
him. 

"  What ! — Babette  !  "  cried  the  other,  in  as- 
tonishment  evidently  as  great  and  uncontrollable 
aa  her  own.  He  put  out  his  hand  and  grasped 
her  arm,  as  if  to  make  sure  of  the  fact  of  her 
bodily  presence.  But  Babette  rudely  pushed 
him  away.  Evidently  she  had  no  more  desire 
than  Katharine  had  manifested  to  salute  him 
cordially. 

"  Keep  your  hands  to  yourself,  Monsieur  St. 
Jean,"  she  exclaimed,  sharply.  "  Mon  Dieu  ! — 
what  are  you  doing  here  ? — as  if  madame,  poor 
lady,  has  not  suffered  enough  for  you  to  leave 
her  in  peace !  " 

"  So  your  mistress  is  here  !  "  said  he,  quick- 
ly. "  Good  Heavens  !  how  near  I  was  to  going 
away  without  knowing  it !  Where — where  is 
she,  Babette  ?  " 

But  the  very  question  betrayed  him.  Ba- 
bette saw  that  this  encounter  had  been  acci- 
dental, and  that  whatever  reason  had  brought 
him  here,  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Gordon  had  no 
share  in  it.  "  How  near  I  was  to  going  away 
without  knowing  it !  "  he  had  unwittingly  said, 
and  Babette's  ears  were  quick.  So  were  her  wits 
for  that  matter,  and  in  a  moment  her  reply  was 
ready.  She  had  no  time  for  cunning  subterfuge 
or  evasion.  The  plain  road  to  mislead  him  was 
in  downright  falsehood,  and  in  downright  false- 
hood she  unhesitatingly  took  refuge. 

"  Madame  is  not  where  you  are  likely  to  find 
her,  M'sieu  St.  Jean,"  she  said,  with  ill-simulated 
triumph.  "  Thanks  to  le  bon  Dieu,  she  is  far 
enough  away,  and  it  is  not  I  who  is  going  to  tell 
you  where  she  is.  Ma  foi !  I  would  tell  the  devil 
sooner  !  "  she  added,  bitterly. 

"  You  are  telling  a  lie,"  said  the  gentleman, 
coolly,  "  and  that  is  not  what  I  expected  of  a 
good  Catholic  like  you,  Babette.  I  wonder  what 
the  priest  will  say  to  this  when  you  go  to  confes- 
sion." 

Babette's  face  fell  for  an  instant ;  but  she 
remembered  what  was  at  stake,  plucked  up 
courage,  and  answered  boldly  and  volubly :  "  It 
is  not  for  a  scoffing  heretic  like  you,  M'sieu  St. 
Jean,  to  tell  Christian  people  that  they  are  liars. 
I  say  that  madame  is  not  here,  nor  anywhere 
,  that  you  are  likely  to  find  her.  And  I'll  thank 
you,"  she  went*  on,  raising  her  voice,  "  to  stand 
out  of  the  path  and  let  me  go  on  " 

"  Where  have  you  been,  ana  where  are  you 
going,  and  with  whom  do  you  live,  if  your  mis- 
tress is  not  here  ?  "  asked  St.  John,  coolly  keep- 
ing his  position  in  front  of  her. 


MR.  WARWICK'S  NEW   CLIENT. 


105 


"  Mon  Dieu !  what  business  is  it  of  yours  ?  " 
demanded  she,  bursting  into  one  of  the  sudden 
furies  to  which  the  servants  of  Morton  House 
were  well  accustomed.  "  I  shall  tell  you  nothing," 
she  continued,  trembling  with  passion.  "  Madame 
is  not  here.  I  am  staying  with  une  amie — I  have 
been  to  town  to  make  purchases.  If  you  will  not 
let  me  pass,  I  shall  go  round  you." 

"  Pass,  by  all  means,"  said  he,  moving  aside 
with  a  peculiar  smile. 

She  carefully  gathered  her  parcels  out  of  the 
mud,  and,  hugging  them  close  in  her  arms, 
marched  stolidly  by  him — grateful  for,  yet  half 
incredulous  of,  this  welcome  release.  She  had 
not  gone  five  paces  before  she  heard  his  step  be- 
hind, and  knew  that  he  was  following  her.  In- 
stantly she  faced  round  upon  him,  her  black  eyes 
gleaming,  and  her  swarthy  face  all  aglow. 

"  Comment,  M'sieu  St.  Jean ! "  she  cried,  in- 
dignantly. "  You  say  I  may  pass,  and,  after  I 
pass,  you  follow — you  dog  me !  Call  you  this 

I  conduct  of  a  gentleman  ?  " 
"  If  you  won't  give  me  any  information,  Ba- 
bette,  I  must  simply  find  it  out,"  said  he,  laugh- 
ing at  her  anger.  "  You  needn't  excite  yourself. 
I  am  only  going  with  you  to  your  friend's. 
There  is  no  harm  in  that,  I  am  sure." 

.  "  My  friend  does  not  wish  to  see  you,"  said 
Babette,  almost  out  of  her  senses,  with  indigna- 
tion. "  She  would  sprinkle  holy  water  if  you 
came  in  sight  of  the  door." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,"  said  he,  still  smil- 
ing so  provokingly  that  she  felt  inclined  to  throw 
her  muddy  parcels  in  his  face ;  "  but  still,  I  must 
accompany  you." 

"  Eh  bien !  then  I  shall  not  go,"  said  she ; 
and,  to  his  great  surprise,  she  wrapped  her 
shawl  around  her  more  comfortably,  and  sat 
down  deliberately  on  a  large  stone  that  lay  in 
the  fence  corner.  Once  seated,  she  looked  up  at 
him  triumphantly.  "  I  can  stay  here  as  long  as 
you  can,  M'sieu  St.  Jean,"  she  said,  "  and  per- 
haps a  little  longer." 

For  the  first  time  she  had  the  best  of  the 
situation,  and,  for  the  first  time  also,  St.  John 
lost  his  temper. 

"  Confound  you ! "  he  said,  savagely.  "  Do 
you  suppose  I  am  such  a  fool  as  not  to  know 
that  your  mistress  is  near  at  hand  somewhere, 
and  that  you  are  lying  like  the  father  of  lies  him- 
self? Do  you  suppose  I  can't  find  out  without 
any  help  from  you  ?  I  have  only  to  walk  into 
the  village  yonder,  and  ask  a  few  questions,  to 
learn  all  that  I  want  to  know.  I  shall  ask  them, 
too ;  and  you  may  tell  your  mistress,  with  my 


compliments,  that  I  shall  do  myself  the  honor 
of  calling  on  her  before  the  day  is  over." 

With  this,  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked 
off  toward  the  town.  Babette  eagerly  watched 
him  out  of  sight;  she  even  followed  him  to  a 
bend  of  the  road,  and  saw  his  figure  vanish  in 
the  distance,  before  she  could  believe  that  he  was 
really  gone,  and  that  he  might  not  return  and  dog 
her  steps.  Then,  as  fast  as  the  sabots  would  al- 
low, she  hurried  to  the  house,  making  no  pause 
until  she  had  burst  in  upon  Mrs.  Gordon  with 
the  news  which  she  knew  would  be  to  her  the 
most  unwelcome  that  could  be  told. 

"  Madame  ! "  she  cried,  as  the  startled  lady 
looked  up  from  her  cushions  in  astonishment ; 
"  madame ! — Ah  !  what  a  misfortune !  It  is  ter- 
rible ! — it  is  enough  to  break  one's  heart,"  said 
the  excitable  Frenchwoman,  almost  sobbing; 
"  but,  as  I  was  coming  back  from  town,  madame, 
I  met  —  out  here  —  in  the  road  —  Monsieur  St. 
Jean ! " 

Mrs.  Gordon,  who  had  not  done  more  than 
languidly  cross  the  room  for  weeks,  gave  one 
convulsive  bound  from  the  sofa,  and  stood  erect 
on  the  floor. 

"  Babette ! "  she  gasped.  More  than  that  she 
could  not  say. 

"  Monsieur  St.  Jean ! "  repeated  Babette,  lift- 
ing her  arm  with  a  tragic  gesture,  as  if  she 
called  upon  Heaven  to  witness  the  truth  of  the 
fact  she  asserted.  "  I  met  him  in  the  road,  ma- 
dame, not  farther  from  the  gate  than  you  could 
throw  a  stone ;  and  ah,  mon  Dieu ! "  said  she, 
shaking  her  head,  "  what  shall  I  have  to  suffer 
for  all  the  lies  I  told ! " 

"  St.  John !  "  said  Mrs.  Gordon ;  and  she  had 
hardly  said  it  when  she  grew  white  as  a  sheet, 
and  sat  down  suddenly.  "  Yonder ! — that  phial 
on  the  table,"  she  panted,  brokenly,  as  Babette 
hurried  to  her.  Well  used  as  she  was  to  these 
attacks,  the  maid  was  frightened — she  had  never 
before  seen  her  mistress  look  like  this ;  she  had 
never  known  her  face  so  ghastly,  or  her  breath  so 
painfully  short.  The  severity  of  the  paroxysm 
did  not  last  more  than  a  minute ;  but,  when  it 
was  over,  Mrs.  Gordon  sank  back  on  the  sofa  ut- 
terly exhausted.  "Wait — wait  a  little,"  she 
said,  when  Babette  began  to  speak,  and  the  lat- 
ter had  discretion  enough  to  hold  her  tongue. 
She  bathed  her  mistress's  face  for  some  time  in 
silence,  and  it  was  not  until  Mrs.  Gordon  opened 
her  eyes,  and  said,  "  Well,  Babette  ?  "  that  she 
broke  into  a  voluble  history  of  her  encounter, 
and  of  all  that  had  been  said  on  both  sides.  By 
the  time  she  finished,  she  had  worked  herself  into 


10G 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


such  a  state  of  emotion,  that  she  was  fairly  weep- 
ing and  wringing  her  hands. 

"  Madame,  let  us  go  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Let 
as  not  stay  here.  lie  will  come.  —  M'sieu  will 
come  —  and  he  will  take  you  and  make  you 
wretched.  Madame,  let  us  go  !—  Mon  Dieu  !  let 
us  go  !  " 

"  Soyez  tranquille  !  "  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  faint- 
ly. "  We  must  bear  what  we  must  bear,  my  poor 
Babette.  But  you  need  not  fear  —  he  will  not  take 
oa  again.  Go  and  order  the  carriage." 

"  To  leave  here,  madame  ?  " 

««  No—  only  to  drive  me  into  town.  Don't 
waste  time,  Babette  —  go  !  " 

Babette  went,  and,  when  she  returned,  she 
found  her  mistress  dressing  with  trembling  haste. 
"My  bonnet,  Babette,"  she  said;  and,  as  Ba- 
bette ran  to  seek  the  bonnet,  which  had  not 
been  use.l  since  her  mistress  entered  Morton 
House,  two  months  before,  she  could  not  help 
wondering  vaguely  what  this  sudden  movement 
meant  Whatever  it  was,  Mrs.  Gordon  certainly 
looked  more  like  herself  than  she  had  done  in 
many  a  long  day  before.  Her  eyes  were  bright, 
her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and,  as  she  tied  the 
strings  of  her  bonnet,  and  drew  the  long  crape 
veil  over  her  face,  she  felt  with  a  strange,  wild 
thrill,  that  stagnation  was  over,  and  the  breath 
of  life  and  combat  bad  come  to  her  again.  It 
made  another  woman  of  her.  It  gave  her 
strength,  and  will,  and  purpose,  that  no  one 
would  have  dreamed  of  her  possessing  as  she  lay 
languidly  on  her  sofa,  and  watched  one  dull  day 
after  another  go  by.  Before  she  entered  the 
carriage,  she  had  all  the  windows  put  up,  and 
all  the  curtains  put  down.  Then  she  bade  the 
coachman  drive  to  Mr.  Warwick's  office  in  Talla- 


To  Mr.  Warwick's  office  in  Tallahoma  the 
lumbering  old  carriage  accordingly  proceeded, 
rousing  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  the  quiet 
streets  of  the  little  village,  and  startling  a  group 
of  loungers  who  were  smoking  their  pipes  in  the 
bright  sunshine  outside  Mr.  Warwick's  door. 
The  lawyer  himself  was  not  of  the  number.  A 
man  had  called  on  business,  and  he  had  taken 
him  into  the  office  about  ten  minutes  before  the 
carriage  appeared.  His  astonishment,  therefore, 
was  great  when  two  or  three  men  came  tumbling 
Into  his  door  without  any  warning,  and  all  at 
once.  "  Warwick,  here's  the  Morton  carriage  1  " 
they  cried,  excitedly.  "  What  the  deuce  does  it 
mean  ?  Can  Mrs.  —  Mrs.  Gordon  be  coming  here 
to  see  you  T  " 

"The  Morton  carriage!"  repeated  Mr.  War- 


wick,  startled,  despite  himself.  "  I  don't  know 
I  have  no  idea  what  it  means,"  he  added. 
"  Are  you  sure  it  is  coming  here  ?  " 

Before  the  others  could  reply,  the  carriage 
drew  up  before  the  curb-stone;  and,  the  next 
moment,  a  half-grown  negro  boy  appeared  at  the 
office  door,  cap  in  hand. 

"  Mr.  Warruck,  mistiss  says  she  would  like  fur 
to  see  you  on  pa'tic'lar  business,  sir,  if  you  is  at 
leisure.  If  you  ain't,  she  say  she  will  come  back 
when  you  is." 

"  Where  is  your  mistress  ?  "  asked  Mr.  War- 
wick. 

"  In  the  carriage,  sir." 

"  Tell  her  I  will  be  there  in  a  minute."  He 
turned  to  his  client,  who  was  listening  with  open 
eyes  and  mouth.  "  Mr.  Sloan,  I  am  sure  you  will 
excuse  me  for  deferring  this  business  at  present. 
Mrs.  Gordon  has  come  in  from  the  country,  and  I 
can't  put  her  off.  Just  leave  the  deed,  and  I  will 
look  over  it,  and  you  can  call  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Sloan  was  burning  with  curiosity,  but  the 
lawyer's  quiet  manner  left  him  no  room  for  ap- 
peal. He  put  down  the  deed,  and  made  his  exit, 
followed  by  the  smokers.  "  Warwick  won't  want 
us,  either,"  they  said,  and  filed  off  without  wait- 
ing for  a  hint  to  that  effect.  No  sooner  was  the 
coast  clear,  than  Mr.  Warwick,  who  certainly 
would  not  have  hesitated  to  say  that  he  did  not 
want  them,  went  out  to  the  carriage  and  opened 
the  door. 

"  How  are  you,  Mrs.  Gordon  ?  "  he  said,  cour- 
teously, shaking  hands  with  the  black-draped  and 
closely-veiled  figure  inside.  "  I  am  quite  at  leis- 
ure to  attend  to  your  commands.  Will  you  come 
into  my  office,  and  let  me  hear  what  I  can  do  for 
you  ?  " 

"Are  they  all  gone?"  inquired  Mrs.  Gordon, 
who  had  taken  an  observation  through  the  car- 
riage-window. "  I  wish  to  see  you  alone." 

"  They  are  all  gone,"  he  answered,  extend- 
ing his  hand  again,  to  assist  her  from  the  car- 
riage. 

She  descended  rather  feebly,  as  he  observed, 
and,  feeling  the  worse  for  her  unusual  exertion, 
leaned  heavily  on  his  arm  as  they  crossed  the 
pavement.  When  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
face,  as  she  put  her  veil  partially  aside  on  enter- 
ing the  office,  it  looked  so  pale,  that  he  was 
afraid  she  migtft  be  about  to  faint.  He  placed 
her  in  a  chair  beside  the  fire,  closed  the  door, 
and  went  hastily  to  a  side-table,  where  he  poured 
out  a  glass  of  water,  and  brought  it  to  her 
"  Will  you  let  me  suggest  that  you  are  too  much 
muffled  up  about  the  face?"  he  said.  "Permit 


MR.   WARWICK'S  NEW   CLIENT. 


St.  Vincents  Hall 
O'Connor  Sanitaria) 


me — ''  and  he  drew  the  masses  of  crape  back,  as 
she  put  the  water  to  her  lips  for  a  moment. 
Seeing  her  countenance  thus  more  distinctly,  he 
was  shocked  by  its  appearance,  and  confirmed 
in  his  dread  of  a  fainting-fit.  He  pulled  a  small 
table  that  was  close  by,  to  her  elbow,  and  set  the 
glass  of  water,  which  she  now  gave  back  to  him, 
upon  it.  Then  he  crossed  the  room  to  one  of  sev- 
eral walnut  bookcases  that  were  ranged  around 
the  walls,  opened  a  door  that  revealed  to  sight 
three  shelves  full  of  respectable-looking  volumes 
bound  in  calf,  while  the  fourth,  and  lowest, 
seemed  to  be  doing  duty  as  a  sideboard.  From 
among  two  or  three  decanters  he  selected  one, 
also  a  wineglass,  and  returned  to  Mrs.  Gordon's 
side. 

"  You  look  very  pale,  very  ill,  I  may  say,"  he 
remarked ;  "  drink  this  wine.  It  will  do  you 
more  good  than  water." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  taking  the  wineglass 
which  he  had  just  filled.  "  You  are  very  kind. 
Yes,  I  believe  I  need  it." 

She  drank  part  of  the  wine,  put  the  glass  on 
the  table,  and  turned  to  him.  "  Sit  down,"  she 
said,  with  a  slight  motion  of  her  hand  toward 
a  seat  opposite.  "  I  shall  not  faint,  and  I  have  a 
great  deal  to  say  to  you." 

It  was  some  time  before  she  spoke.  Whether 
it  was  the  memory  of  the  past — of  the  different 
manner  in  which  they  two  had  once  known  each 
other — or  whether  it  was  merely  the  all-absorbing 
thought  of  the  threatening  present,  something 
overpowered  her,  and  it  was  some  time  before 
she  could  collect  herself  sufficiently  to  break 
the  silence.  At  last,  with  an  effort,  the  first 
words  came. 

"  Mr.  Warwick,  for  a  reason  that  I  will  tell 
you  presently,  I  stand  in  need  of  the  advice  of  a 
lawyer.  I  have  come  to  apply  to  you  for  that 
advice.  But,  even  more  than  I  need  a  lawyer,  I 
need  a  friend,  and  the  service  that  only  a  friend 
can  render  me.  I  venture,  therefore — you  may 
think  without  any  claim — to  ask  if  you  remem- 
ber the  old  time  sufficiently  to  care  to  render  me 
this  service  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Gordon  must  surely  have  forgotten 
that  she  was  once  Pauline  Morton,  before  she 
could  ask  rue  such  a  question,"  said  the  lawyer, 
flushing  slightly.  "  There  are  hereditary  claims 
of  friendship  between  us,"  he  went  on,  hastily, 
as  he  saw  an  answering  flush  rise  to  the  pale  face 
opposite  him,  "  and  there  is,  moreover,  a  particu- 
lar claim.  When  I  was  a  struggling  boy,  your 
father  aided  me  in  a  manner  I  can  never  forget. 
What  I  am  to-day,  I  owe  to  his  generous  kind- 


ness.    I  will  gladly  do  any  thing  in  my  power  to 
serve  his  daughter." 

Mrs.  Gordon  understood,  as  not  many  peo 
pie  would  have  done,  the  delicacy  which  made 
him  speak  thus — which  made  him  allude  not 
to  herself,  but  to  her  father.  Understanding  it, 
she  appreciated  what  she  had  only  felt  before, 
that  this  man  could  indeed  be  trusted,  and  that 
he  spoke  truly  when  he  said  that  he  would  do 
"  any  thing "  to  serve  her.  Instinctively  she 
held  out  her  hand. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I  felt  sure  that  I 
might  rely  on  you  ;  but  I  am  glad  to  hear  you 
say  that  you  will  help  me.  Ah,  it  is  a  terrible 
thing  to  be  a  woman,"  said  she,  looking  at  him 
with  pathetic  eyes.  "  If  I  were  like  you,  I  should 
not  need  help." 

"  We  all  need  it  in  some  form  or  other,"  an- 
swered he.  "None  of  us  are  so  strong  as  to 
stand  quite  alone." 

"  But  it  is  only  a  woman  who  is  entirely  at 
the  mercy  of  another ;  who  may  be  crushed  in  a 
hundred  different  ways — each  more  cruel,  more 
bitter  than  death.  Mr.  Warwick,  tell  me — what 
power,  short  of  murder,  does  not  the  law  give  a 
man  over  his  wife  ?  " 

"  It  gives  him  a  great  deal,"  said  Mr.  War. 
wick,  regarding  her  keenly,  and  reading  the  ex- 
citement  written  on  her  face.  "  But  what  inter- 
est has  this  subject  to  you  ?  A  widow — " 

He  was  stopped  by  a  gesture  from  her.  Sud- 
denly she  extended  her  hand,  and  taking  up  the 
wine,  drank  it  off.  Then  she  put  down  the  glass 
with  a  ringing  sound,  and,  leaning  forward,  looked 
steadily  into  his  eyes. 

"  God  forgive  me !  "  she  said — "  God  forgive 
me  that  I  am  forced  to  say  it,  but  He  has  not 
been  kind  enough  to  set  me  free.  The  first  thing 
I  have  to  tell  you  is  that  I  am  no  widow.  My 
husband  " — the  word  nearly  choked  her — "  is  liv- 
ing." 

Mr.  Warwick  started,  but  the  surprise  was 
not  nearly  so  much  of  a  surprise  as  might  per- 
haps be  imagined.  He  had  suspected  some- 
thing like  this  before.  It  is  hard  to  tell  what 
slight  circumstances  first  sowed  the  seeds  of  sus 
picion  in  his  mind,  but  he  had  long  felt  an  in 
stinct  that  Mrs.  Gordon's  seclusion  and  impene- 
trable reticence  were  not  characteristic  of  a 
widow,  but  of  a  woman  who  had  still  some- 
thing to  fear,  something  to  hide  from.  Then, 
no  one  knew  the  business  of  the  Morton  estate 
as  he  did,  and  he  had  not  failed  to  make  his  own 
comments  on  the  fact  that,  in  taking  possession 
of  this  estate,  Mrs.  Gordon  had  absolutely  re- 


108 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


fused  to  go  through  any  of  the  usual  legal  forms. 
There  was  no  one  to  contest  her  claim,  she  said, 
and  so  she  quietly  assumed  her  right  of  control 
without  any  sanction  from  the  law.  Over  this 
obstinacy,  Mr.  Shields  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  It's  a  woman's  notion  of  doing  business,  Mr. 
Warwick,"  he  said.  But  Mr.  Warwick  himself 
was  of  a  different  mind.  He  suspected  how  it 
was ;  though  the  suspicion  scarcely  took  definite 
form  in  his  brain.  He  had  other  and  more  im- 
portant things  than  Mrs.  Gordon's  private  affairs 
to  consider  ;  and  notwithstanding  the  boyish 
sentiment  for  which  his  sister  still  gave  him 
credit,  Mrs.  Gordon  herself  was  no  more  to  him 
than  any  old  friend,  liked  sincerely — liked  with  a 
certain  tenderness,  perhaps,  on  account  of  the 
past — but  making  no  part  of  his  daily  life.  And 
so  it  was,  that  he  felt  very  little  surprise  when 
she  told  him  that  she  was  not  a  widow — that 
her  husband  was  living. 

"  Do  not  blame  me  more  than  you  can  help," 
she  went  on,  as  he  did  not  speak.  "  Do  you  re- 
member how  proud  I  used  to  be  in  the  old 
time  ?  Well,  that  pride  has  not  quite  been 
crushed  out  of  me.  I  could  not  bear  to  come 
back  here  and  tell  these  people  what  bitter  ship- 
wreck had  overtaken  me !  I  could  not  bear  to 
spread  before  them  the  history  of — of  such  a  life 
as  mine !" 

"  Why  did  you  come  back  at  all  ?  "  said  he, 
hardly  knowing  what  else  to  say. 

"  Because  it  was  a  place  of  refuge — and  I 
had  no  other.  Because  it  was  the  one  place  in 
the  world  where  he  was  least  likely  to  come — 
least  likely  to  think  of  searching  for  me.  When 
the  last  awful  blow  fell,"  said  she,  growing  fear- 
fully white,  "  I  looked  round  despairingly  and 
wondered  where  I  could  go.  Then,  like  a  relief 
from  Heaven  came  the  thought  of  my  father's 
house.  Here  I  could  be  safe,  here  I  would  be 
untroubled,  here  I  might  live  and  die  unmolested 
by  him.  But  I  have  only  been  at  peace  a  little 
while.  To-day  Babettc  met  an  agent  whom  he 
has  sent  in  search  of  me/' 

"  An  agent  ?  " 

"  An  unscrupulous  tool,  whom  he  retains  for 
uses  of  this  kind,  named  St.  John.  As  soon  as 
he  conveys  the  information  of  my  whereabouts, 
that  man — my  husband — will  come  here.  It  if 
not  me  he  wants,  it  is  Felix— but  if  he  takes  the 
child,  he  must  take  me  too.  What  I  wish  to 
ask  you  is  this  " — she  rose,  and  stood  before 
him,  with  an  eager  yearning  in  her  eyes — "can 
he  take  him  from  me  ?  Does  the  Jaw  give  him 
that  power— here?" 


The  lawyer's  heart  was  touched  with  pity  for 
her ;  but  truth  was  uncompromising,  and  must 
be  told.  "  If  he  can  prove  that  he  is  his  father, 
it  gives  him  that  power  anywhere." 

The  woman — the  helpless  creature  to  whom 
the  law  gave  no  power — sank  down  again  into 
her  chair,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
When  she  looked  up  at  last,  that  face  was  tense 
and  bloodless. 

"  Then  I  must  ask  that  service  of  which  I 
spoke  a  short  time  ago,"  she  said.  u  Will  you 
take  my  poor  boy,  and  put  him  somewhere — 
away  from  me — where  he  will  be  in  safety,  and 
— and  cannot  be  found  ?  " 

Mr.  Warwick  started,  and.  for  a  moment, 
looked  more  than  surprised — in  fact,  he  looked 
almost  aghast.  Here  was  a  proposition  indeed  ! 
that  a  lawyer  who  respected  the  law  as  the  most 
sacred  of  earthly  obligations,  should  be  instru- 
mental in  evading  it ! — that  a  man  who  was  full 
of  the  dominative  opinions  of  his  sex,  should 
lend  his  aid  to  a  scheme  that  removed  a  child 
from  the  just  control  of  its  father  !  Pauline 
Morton  certainly  stretched  the  cord  of  ancient 
friendship  to  its  utmost  tension,  when  she  made 
such  a  demand  of  him. 

"  Mrs.  Gordon,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  I  would 
do  any  tiling  to  serve  you — any  thing  that  was 
right ;  but  I  am  not  sure  this  would  be  right.  A 
father  always  has  a  paramount  claim  to  his  child." 

Instantly  all  the  woman  in  her  blazed  out  upon 
him. 

"  A  paramount  claim,  given  by  whom  ?  "  she 
demanded.  "  It  is  you  men  that  make  the  laws 
that  grind  poor  women  to  the  earth — not  God, 
not  religion,  not  any  thing  that  should  be  re- 
spected !  It  is  you  who  tear  the  very  hearts  out 
of  our  breasts,  and  then  talk  of  right  and  power 
to  do  so.  Yes,  you  have  a  right — the  right  of 
the  strong  to  trample  the  weak  !  You  have  a 
power — the  power  of  the  master  over  the  slave ! 
God  knows  there  is  no  other.  But  I  might  have 
been  sure  a  man  would  never  help  me  against 
a  man.  Therefore,  I  shall  do  what  must  be 
done,  myself — and  only  ask  you  not  to  betray 
me." 

"  Stop,  Mrs.  Gordon,"  he  said,  as  she  rose 
and  moved  toward  the  door.  "  Stop  a  moment," 
he  added,  following  her.  "  You  must  not  leave 
me  like  this.  uRemember  that  I  have  not  re- 
fused to  help  you.  I  stated  a  general  fact  when 
I  said  that  a  father  has  a  paramount  claim  to 
his  child.  It  is  certainly  true,  as  a  general  fact : 
but  in  particular  cases,  that  claim  is  sometimes 
i  forfeited.  If  I  am  to  serve  you,  I  must  do  «« 


MR.  WARWICK'S  NEW   CLIENT. 


109 


with  my  eyes  open — I  must  know  whether  the 
claim  has  been  forfeited  in  this  instance." 

"  I  think  I  can  convince  you  of  that,"  said 
she,  faintly,  as  she  sat  down  again.  "  I  am  not 
strong  enough  for  such  violent  emotion,"  she 
went  on,  panting  slightly.  "  Wait — wait  a  lit- 
tle, and  I  will  tell  you  all." 

"  Take  your  time,"  he  said,  kindly. 

"  If  I  do  that,  I  should  never  speak  at  all," 
Bhe  answered,  hurriedly.  "  I  must  do  it  at  once. 
You  heard  of  my  marriage  some  fifteen  years 
ago,  did  you  not  ?  " 

"  We  heard  of  it  vaguely.  You  kept  up  no 
communication  with  Lagrange,  you  know."  • 

"  I  married  a  Captain  Eraser,  an  English 
officer,"  she  went  on,  apparently  unheeding  his 
reply.  "  I  was  very  much  in  love  with  him," 
she  said,  with  a  trembling,  scornful  smile ;  "  and 
he — well,  he  seemed  to  be  in  love  with  me.  I  was 
beautiful  then,  you  know,  and  I  had  been  very 
much  admired.  He  was  highly  connected,  and 
he  was  very  handsome — I  honestly  believe  that 
those  were  the  only  reasons  I  had  for  liking 
him.  I  thought  myself  able  to  judge  of  char- 
acter, and  rank  and  good  looks  dazzled  me,  as 
they  might  have  dazzled  any  village  school-girl. 
Well,  I  married  him,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  of  the 
life  I  led  afterward.  Look  at  my  face.  Every 
hour  of  it  is  written  there !  Captain  Fraser  left 
the  army,  and  we  lived  on  the  Continent — there 
is  not  a  city  of  Europe  that  is  not  full  of  bitter 
memories  to  me.  After  my  mother  died,  the  life 
grew  worse.  My  husband  was  dissipated,  and 
recklessly  extravagant.  My  poor  brother  " — her 
voice  almost  choked  her — "  helped  me  as  much 
as  he  could.  It  was  my  demands  that  went  to 
impoverish  the  estate,  and — and  I  hear  that  he 
has  all  the  blame  of  it.  As  time  went  on,  and 
matters  grew  worse,  I  would  have  separated  from 
my  husband,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Felix.  He, 
who  was  my  youngest  child,  alone  lived,  and  I 
could  not  leave  him.  It  would  have  been  bet- 
ter, perhaps,  if  I  had  done  so,  for  " — she  stopped 
here,  and  something  like  a  ghastly  horror  came 
over  her  face — "  for  as  matters  grew  no  better, 
as  ill-usage  increased,  my  brother  at  last  lost 
patience.  He  met  us  at  Baden,  where  Fraser 
was  at  his  worst,  and — and  there  was  a  violent 
quarrel.  I  don't  know  how  it  was  —  I  have 
never  heard  any  particulars — but  he — my  broth- 
er— was  killed  by  that  man  whom  the  law  calls 
my  husband  ! " 

Almost  unconsciously,  Mr.  Warwick  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  horror,  but  white  as  was  her 
face,  parched  as  were  her  lips,  she  hurried  on : 


"  The  next  day  I  was  half  mad,  and  I  did  not 
know  where  to  turn ;  but  on  one  thing  I  was  de- 
termined— that  was,  never  to  see  him  again.  He 
and  this  St.  John  had  been  obliged  to  leave  Ba- 
den, but  he  sent  me  word  to  go  to  Scotland, 
where  we  had  been  living  for  some  two  or  three 
years — I  forgot  to  say  that  an  uncle  had  died, 
and  left  him  a  large  estate,  with  the  condition 
that  he  assumed  the  name  of  Gordon.  Instead 
of  going  to  Scotland,  I  came  to  America.  He 
knows  how  I  always  hated  the  country,  and  I 
was  sure  he  would  never  look  for  me  here — be- 
sides he  had  hardly  more  than  the  vaguest  idea 
of  where  Morton  House  was  situated.  I  relied  on 
all  this,  and  I  thought  I  might  live  here,  and — 
and  train  Felix  to  be  a  gentleman.  But  you  see 
how  it  has  ended  !  I  might  have  known  I  could 
not  defy  the  cunning  of  these  two.  It  is  Felix 
they  want — not  me !  If  they  take  him,  it  will  be 
to  make  him  what  they  are  themselves.  And 
sooner  than  see  him  that,"  she  cried  out,  pas- 
sionately, "  I  could  find  the  strength  to  kill  him 
with  my  own  hands  ! " 

Without  a  word,  Warwick  rose  from  his 
seat,  and  took  two  or  three  turns  up  and  down 
the  room — then  suddenly  came  back  and  stood 
before  her,  looking  at  her  worn,  haggard  face. 
"  My  God !  "  he  said,  "  what  you  must  have  en» 
dured  !  And  you  went  away  from  us  for  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  this.  Don't — don't  speak  of  the 
old  time.  I  cannot  bear  it  now,"  she  cried  out, 
suddenly. 

"  No,  I  will  not  speak  of  it,"  he  answered, 
kindly.  "  I  was  only  thinking — it  seems  hard 
that  mistakes  should  sometimes  be  punished 
as  bitterly  as  sins.  Well,  you  were  right.  I 
will  help  you  to  the  very  utmost  of  my  power 
As  long  as  I  can  prevent  it,  the  man  of  whom 
you  speak  shall  never  obtain  possession  of  your 
son." 

"  But  the  law — 

"  Such  a  man  as  the  one  you  describe  is  not 
likely  to  have  recourse  to  the  law,  in  the  first 
place — especially  in  a  foreign  land.  But,  if  he 
did,  the  law  could  only  assign  the  child  to  him  ; 
it  could  not  find  him  for  him.  Get  Felix  ready 
for  a  journey,  and  I  will  arrange  my  plans,  mean- 
while,  and  will  communicate  with  you  to-morrow 
at  latest.  Do  not  be  surprised  or  unprepared  if 
I  call  for  the  child  at  a  very  early  hour  in  the 
morning.  That  is,  if  there  is  need  of  haste  in 
the  matter." 

"  Yes,  yes — there  is  great  need  of  haste — im- 
mediate haste.  I  do  not  know  how  near  my  hue 
band  may  be.  Probably  he  is  in  America." 


110 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


•'  This  St  John  cannot  himself  molest  you  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  he  were  to  entice  Felix  away. 
The  child  was  always  very  fond  of  him— he  might 
do  that,"  said  she,  suddenly  rising,  with  terror  in 
her  eyes.  "I  must  return  at  once  to  Morton 
House.  He  told  Babette  that  he  was  coming 
there.  Good  Heavens!  I  don't  know  what 
may  happen  while  I  am  away." 

Mr.  Warwick  did  not  attempt  to  detain  her. 
He  saw  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  do  so.  Her 
fears  were  causeless,  for  Babette  was  fully  alive 
to  the  danger,  and  St.  John  could  sooner  have 
snatched  Felix  from  the  den  of  a  lion  than  from 
Morton  House,  guarded  by  her,  and  garrisoned 
by  a  troop  of  servants ;  but  all  the  same  it  would 
have  been  useless  to  reason  with,  and  still  more 
useless  to  detain,  a  woman  whose  nerves  were 
strung  to  the  pitch  which  Mrs.  Gordon's  now 
were.  He  saw  this,  and  opened  the  office-door. 
"  I  will  see  you  to-morrow,"  he  said,  and,  as  he 
said  it,  she  uttered  a  sudden,  half-stifled  cry,  and 
caught  his  arm — 

"  There  !  —  there  ! "  she  gasped,  shrinking 
back  into  the  room,  and  pointing  eagerly  across 
the  street. 

His  eyes  followed  the  motion  of  her  hand,  and 
be  saw  a  slender,  well-dressed  man  sauntering 
•long.  "  That  is  the  man  ?  "  he  asked,  though 
the  question  was  almost  unnecessary. 

"  It  is  St.  John  !  "  cried  his  companion,  with 
t  wild  burst  of  tears.  "  It  is  the  wretch  whom  I 
have  not  seen  since — since — " 

He  put  her  gently  into  a  chair,  and  said  in  a 
qniet  voice,  the  very  tones  of  which  were  reassur- 
ing, "  Trust  to  me,  and  try  and  compose  your- 
•elf.  If  you  allow  yourself  to  become  unnerved 
in  this  manner,  you  will  put  yourself  entirely  at 
the  mercy  of  this  man,  if,  by  any  accident,  he 
succeeds  in  gaming  admittance  to  your  presence. 
And  the  child — you  must  think  of  him.  For 
his  sake,  endeavor  to  control  yourself." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  turned  and 
walked  to  the  window,  and  followed  Mr.  St. 
John's  retreating  figure  with  his  eyes,  as  far 
is  it  could  be  seen.  It  was  a  good  thing  that 
Mr.  St  John  was  thinking  deeply ;  or  that  keen 
glance  might  have  made  itself  felt  —  not  com- 
fortably. Few  men  like  to  be  scrutinized  in 
that  searching  fashion ;  and  this  man  especially 
had  good  reason  for  avoiding  it.  When  he 
finally  turned  a  corner,  and  was  out  of  sight, 
Mr.  Warwick  went  back  to  his  companion. 

"  He  is  gone,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Let  me  put 
yon  into  the  carriage  now,  Mrs.  Gordon." 

She  extended  her  hand  silently,  and  he  con- 


ducted her  out.  After  she  was  in  the  carriage, 
and  the  door  had  been  closed,  she  leaned  forward 
and  spoke.  "  God  bless  you  1 "  she  said.  That 
was  all ;  but  the  words,  and  the  sound  of  ths 
rich,  sweet  voice  that  had  spoken  them,  lingered 
with  him  long  after  he  went  back  into  his  office, 
and  sat  down  to  Mr.  Sloan's  deed. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

MIS8   TRESHAM    KEEPS    HER    WORD. 

THE  morning  after  the  ball  at  Annesdale, 
Katharine  was  one  of  the  few  people  who  came 
down-stairs  at  the  usual  hour.  Most  of  the 
ladies  kept  their  chambers,  and  the  gentlemen 
dropped  into  the  breakfast-room  at  irregular  in- 
tervals, looking  the  worse  for  their  night's 
amusement.  Miss  Tresham  received  many  com 
pliments  on  her  matutinal  habits — all  of  which 
she  answered  by  a  faint  smile.  "  I  don't  de- 
serve any  credit  for  my  energy,"  she  said.  "  I 
should  have  liked  very  much  to  sleep  longer,  and 
probably  would  have  done  so,  if  I  had  not  been 
obliged  to  go  to  Tallahoma  this  morning." 

Mrs.  Annesley  was  sitting  at  another  table 
and  talking  to  quite  another  set  of  people ;  but 
she  caught  the  last  words  and  turned  round. 

"  Did  I  hear  you  say  something  about  Talla- 
homa, Miss  Tresham  ?  I  hope  you  are  not  in- 
tending to  desert  us  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  you  prohibit  my  return,"  an- 
swered Katharine,  smiling.  "  I  was  only  talking 
of  going  into  town  for  a  while  this  morning — on 
business,"  she  added,  as  she  saw  a  slight  expres- 
sion of  surprise  on  Mrs.  Annesley's  face. 

"  Hear  !  hear ! "  cried  Mr.  Langdon,  laughing 
" '  On  business ' — that  is,  to  buy  six  yards  of  rib- 
bon, or  a  pair  of  gloves.  How  grandly  you  ladies 
talk!" 

"  To  buy  something  much  more  important 
than  many  yards  of  ribbon,  or  many  pairs  of 
gloves,"  answered  Miss  Tresham,  gravely.  Then 
she  turned  to  Mrs.  Annesley,  and  asked  if  she 
could  send  her  into  town. 

"  Certainly.  The  carriage  is  at  your  service," 
her  hostess  replied.  "  At  what  hour  shall  I  order 
it?" 

"Immediately  after  breakfast,  if  you  please," 
Katharine  answered. 

Immediately  after  breakfast,  Miss  Tresham 
went  up-stairs,  and  put  on  her  bonnet  and  cloak. 
When  she  came  down,  the  carriage  was  standing 
before  the  door,  and,  while  she  was  congratulat 


MISS   TRESHAM   KEEPS   HER   WORD. 


Ill 


Ing  herstlf  on  her  escape  from  companionship 
and  questioning,  lo  !  from  the  drawing-room, 
sallied  forth  Mrs.  French  arrayed  in  full  out-door 
costume. 

"You  don't  object  to  taking  me  along,  do 
you,  Miss  Tresham  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  smile 
that  Katharine  could  not  help  thinking  had  the 
least  possible  tinge  of  malicious  enjoyment  in  it. 
"  Mamma  wants  me  to  go  to  the  Andersons,  and 
they  live  on  the  other  side  of  Tallahoma.  I  can 
drop  you  in  the  village,  and  call  for  you  as  I  re- 
turn, if  you  say  so." 

Katharine  said  so  with  the  best  grace  she 
could  summon,  and  in  this  way  found  herself 
fairly  booked  to  make  the  best  or  worst  of 
Mrs.  French  during  a  five-miles'  drive.  For  a 
while,  the  latter  spared  her  any  conversational 
exertion — being  full  of  the  important  subject  of 
the  ball,  on  which  her  tongue  ran  as  glibly  as 
possible. 

"Was  it  pleasant,  Miss  Tresham? — did  you 
really  enjoy  yourself  ?"  she  asked.  "Did  other 
people  seem  to  be  enjoying  themselves  ?  Of 
course  everybody  told  me  that  it  was  delightful ; 
but  I  have  said  such  things  dozens  of  times, 
when  in  fact  I  had  been  nearly  bored  to  death. 
After  one  has  told  stories  of  that  kind  one's  self, 
one  isn't  apt  to  believe  other  people,  you  know, 
1  am  so  glad  you  think  every  thing  went  off 
nicely.  Our  ball  has  become  quite  the  Christ- 
mas event  in  Lagrange,  and  I  always  like  it  to 
be  nice.  It  often  strikes  me  that  it  is  a  very 
daring  thing  to  bring  a  hundred  or  so  people  to- 
gether, and  leave  them  to  amuse  themselves — for 
that  is  what  a  ball  really  comes  to,  you  know." 

"  Indeed  I  don't  know,"  said  Katharine, 
smiling.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  think  it  is  on 
the  hostess  that  the  success  or  failure  of  a  ball 
principally  rests.  You  must  not  try  to  shirk 
the  success  of  yours,  Mrs.  French." 

"  Oh,  it  was  mamma  who  played  hostess," 
said  Mrs.  French,  with  a  shrug.  "  I  took  no 
more  responsibility  of  that  sort  than  any  of  the 
guests.  When  I  come  home,  I  tried  to  forget 
that  I  am  married ;  and  I  generally  succeed  in 
enjoying  myself  quite  as  much  as  if  I  was  a  girl 
with  a  dozen  or  so  of  admirers.  By-the-by,  we 
were  talking  over  the  ball  this  morning,  and 
there  was  quite  a  discussion  going  on  as  to 
who  was  the  belle  of  it.  Tell  me  who  you  think 
is  best  entitled  to  that  distinction." 

"  That  is  hard  to  say,"  answered  Katharine, 
trying  to  keep  her  wandering  thoughts  to  the 
subject  in  question.  "  Everybody  has  a  different 
opinion  as  to  who  was  the  belle  of  the  ball.  I 


think  Miss  Vernon  was  the  mos',  beautiful  woman 
present ;  but  whether  other  people  thought  so, 
or  whether  that  constitutes  bellehood,  I  really 
don't  know." 

"  I  should  say  that  the  woman  who  was 
most  sought  and  admired  was  the  belle,"  said 
Mrs.  French,  decidedly.  "  You  were  very  much 
admired,  Miss  Tresham,"  she  went  on,  with  sur- 
prising candor.  "  Any  number  of  people  asked 
me  who  you  were,  and  said  you  danced  so  grace- 
fully. I  suppose  you  learned  to  dance  in  Europe 
— in  Paris,  perhaps." 

"  Indeed,  no,"  said  Katharine,  smiling  and 
sighing  both  at  once.  "  I  never  was  in  Paris. 
I  learned  to  dance  at  home — in  the  West  Indies 
— where  everybody  loves  it  so." 

"  But  you  are  English." 

"  I  am  West  Indian,"  said  Katharine,  flush- 
ing a  little.  "  Please  don't  call  me  English,  for 
I  am  no  more  English  than  you  are.  Your 
grandparents,  or  great-grandparents,  probably 
came  from  England,  and  so  did  mine — that  is 
all." 

In  this  strain,  the  con  'ersation  went  on  until 
Tallahoma  was  in  sight,  and  Katharine,  instead 
of  being  fresh  and  ready  for  what  was  before 
her,  felt  already  wearied  and  downcast. 

"  Where  shall  I  tell  John  to  stop,  Miss  Tresh- 
am ?  "  asked  Mrs.  French,  with  her  hand  on  the 
check-string,  as  they  entered  the  town. 

"  At — "  Katharine  stopped  a  moment.  She 
was  about  to  say  "  Mrs.  Marks,"  but  a  timely 
recollection  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  of 
the  many  detentions  that  would  await  her  there, 
came  over  her.  It  was  imperative  that  she 
should  see  Mr.  Marks  at  once,  and  that  the 
business  which  brought  her  to  Tallahoma  should 
be  transacted  without  loss  of  time ;  so  she  fin- 
ished  her  sentence  by  saying — "  the  bank." 

"The  bank,  John,"  said  Mrs.  French,  with 
a  little  arch  of  her  eyebrows.  Then  she  added, 
laughingly,  "I  must  tell  Mr.  Langdon  that  your 
business  in  Tallahoma  really  was  business.  One 
doesn't  go  to  a  bank  to  buy  ribbons  and  gloves." 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Mr.  Marks  about  my  sal- 
ary," said  Katharine,  more  annoyed  by  this  re- 
mark than  was  strictly  reasonable,  and  thinking 
she  would  put  an  end  to  any  and  all  conjectures 
concerning  her  business. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Tresham,"  said  Mrs.  French, 
a  little  shocked,  "  I  hope  you  don't  think  that  I 
meant  any  thing — that  I  was  so  impertinent  as 
to  be  curious  about  your  affairs.  I  really  beg 
your  pardon,  if  I  said  any  thing  to  make  you 
think  so." 


112 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


44  You  did  not  say  any  thing,"  answered  Kath- 
arine. "  I  ought  to  beg  your  pardon  for  mention- 
ing them — only  one  certainly  does  not  go  to  a 
bank  to  buy  ribbons  and  gloves." 

"  This  is  the  place  now,"  said  Mrs.  French, 
looking  out  "  Shall  I  call  for  you  here,  Miss 
Tresham  f  " 

"  At  Mrs.  Marks's,  if  you  please,"  said  Kath- 
arine, as  the  footman  opened  the  door,  and  she 
descended  to  the  sidewalk.  "I  shall  be  back 
in  about  two  hours,"  was  the  last  thing  she 
heard  Mrs.  French  say,  as  the  carriage  drove 
off. 

Watching  it  out  of  sight,  the  girl  said: 
M  Thank  Heaven ! "  with  fervor,  then  turned, 
and,  opening  a  gate  just  before  her,  went  up  a 
short  walk  bordered  with  green  box,  to  the  door 
of  a  somewhat  gloomy-looking  brick  house.  She 
knew  the  place  well,  for,  during  her  first  year  of 
residence  with  the  Marks  family,  they  had  lived 
here ;  and  it  was  only  because  the  children  were 
growing  large,  and  the  house,  with  the  bank 
apartments  deducted,  was  uncomfortably  small, 
that  they  had  removed  to  the  outskirts  of  the 
village.  Nobody  was  more  glad  of  the  change 
than  Katharine ;  but  still,  her  local  attachments 
were  strong,  and  she  gave  a  kind  smile  round 
the  yard,  with  every  nook  and  corner  of  which 
she  had  been  familiar.  She  even  stopped  a  mo- 
ment to  examine  a  rose-bush,  that  was  clambering 
over  the  porch,  before  she  went  in.  The  passage 
which  she  entered  looked  dark  and  cheerless,  but, 
on  a  door  to  the  right,  the  word  "  Bank  "  was  con- 
spicuously lettered ;  and,  as  this  door  was  ajar, 
•  large,  well-lighted  room,  with  a  counter  run- 
nlng  across  it,  was  visible.  Here  all  was  well- 
known  ground  ;  so  Katharine  walked  in  without 
any  hesitation.  Two  gentlemen  were  standing 
at  a  fireplace  behind  the  counter,  and  they  both 
turned  as  she  entered.  One  was  Mr.  Marks,  the 
other  Mr.  Warwick.  A  young  man  was  busy 
with  accounts  at  the  other  end  of  the  apart- 
ment. 

"  Why,  Miss  Kate,  is  it  possible ! "  said  the 
cashier,  meeting  her  in  his  hearty  way.  He 
•hook  hands,  and  seemed  so  glad  to  see  her, 
that  Katharine,  who  was  thoroughly  unnerved, 
felt  half-Inclined  to  cry.  It  is  astonishing  how 
every  emotion  with  a  woman  takes  the  form  of 
that  inclination.  "  Yes,  it  is  I,  Mr.  Marks,"  she 
•aid  ;  and,  while  she  was  making  inquiries  about 
Mrs.  Marks  and  the  children,  Mr.  Warwick,  after 
•peaking  to  her,  took  his  departure.  "I'll  be 
back  in  the  course  of  an  hour,"  he  said  to  Mr. 
Marks;  and  then  he  went  out — looking,  Kath- 


arine thought,  a  little  more  grave  than  was 
usual  with  him. 

Her  own  business  was  soon  transacted.  If 
Mr.  Marks  felt  any  surprise  at  the  demand  she 
came  to  make,  he  had  discretion  enough  not  to 
show  it.  "  The  whole  amount,  Miss  Kate  ?  "  was 
all  that  he  said.  "  The  whole  amount,  if  you 
please,  Mr.  Marks,"  she  answered.  So,  after 
due  examination  of  accounts,  and  due  adding 
up  of  interest,  Katharine  found  no  less  a  sum 
than  one  thousand  dollars  in  crisp  bank-notes, 
paid  to  her  across  the  counter.  Her  heart  'gavo 
a  great  leap.  She  had  been  so  little  accus- 
tomed to  the  command  of  money  in  her  life, 
that  this  seemed  to  her  a  large  amount — quite 
a  moderate  fortune,  in  fact.  "  Surely  it  will  buy 
my  freedom,"  she  thought  to  herself,  with  a 
strange  pang  at  her  heart ;  and  then,  while  she 
signed  a  receipt  for  the  payment,  a  sudden 
thought  occurred  to  her,. and  she  startled  Mr. 
Marks  by  dropping  the  pen,  and  looking  up  at 
him. 

"  Mr.  Marks,  I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  hastily, 
"but  could  you  let  me  have  the  amount  in 
gold  ?  " 

"In  gold!"  echoed  Mr.  Marks,  so  much  as- 
tonished that  he  could  not  help  showing  it.  "  In 
gold,  Miss  Kate  ?  " 

"  Yes — if  it  will  not  inconvenience  you— 
if—" 

"  If  it  will  not  inconvenience  you,  my  dear 
young  lady,"  interrupted  the  cashier,  laughing  a 
little.  "  You'll  find  it  rather  troublesome,  I 
think ;  but  of  course  the  bank  is  always  ready 
to  pay  specie  when  demanded  on  its  notes.  Do 
you  want  all  that  money  in  gold  ?  " 

"  All,  if  you  please." 

"  I  must  go  down  into  the  vault  for  it,  then. 
We  don't  keep  specie  up  here,"  he  added,  smil- 
ing. 

As  Katharine  stood  waiting  for  him  to  re- 
turn, she  hurriedly  reviewed  the  situation  in  her 
mind.  Regarded  in  any  light,  it  was  a  rather  em- 
barrassing one.  To  conceal  a  thousand  dollars 
in  gold  about  her  person  was  simply  impossible  ; 
to  carry  it  in  her  hand  through  the  streets,  with- 
out exciting  much  observation,  and  incurring 
much  fatigue,  was  equally  impossible.  Yet 
what  was  to  be  done?  If  she  paid  the  bank- 
notes to  St.  John,  he  would  certainly  convert 
them  immediately  into  specie ;  and,  as  the  notes 
might  readily  be  identified,  this  would  subject 
her  to  a  great  deal  of  unpleasant  conjecture 
and  possible  inquiry.  The  only  way  to  avoid  it 
was  to  draw  the  gold  at  once ;  and  yet,  in  that 


MISS   TRESHAM   KEEPS   lifclR   WORD. 


113 


case,  the  problem  still  remained — how  was  she  to 
take  the  amount  either  to  Mrs.  Marks,  or  to  An- 
uesdale,  being  unfortunately  unprovided  with  any 
convenient  pocket  or  satchel  ?  Necessity,  how- 
ever, is  the  best  spur,  not  only  to  invention,  but 
to  fertile  expedient.  As  Mr.  Marks  reentered 
the  apartment,  a  solution  for  her  difficulty  flashed 
through  Katharine's  brain.  She  thanked  him, 
after  he  had  counted  the  last  one  of  the  ringing 
yellow  pieces  down  before  her ;  and,  while  he 
was  methodically  tying  them  up  in  a  canvas  bag, 
she  asked,  quickly : 

"  Mr.  Marks,  would  you  object  to  my  seeing 
a  friend  in  the  parlor  yonder,  across  the  pas- 
sage ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  »Miss  Katharine,"  answered 
Mr.  Marks,  speaking  without  the  least  hesitation. 
"  By  all  means,  see  a  half-dozen  friends  there,  if 
vou  desire." 

"  One  will  do,"  said  Katharine,  acknowledg- 
ing this  pleasantry  by  a  faint  smile.  "  Now  one 
thing  more — will  you  give  me  a  pen  and  some 
paper  ?  " 

Pen  and  paper  were  obligingly  placed  before 
her ;  and  she  wrote  a  few  lines,  folded,  sealed, 
and  addressed  the  note  to  Mr.  Henry  Johns. 
As  she  was  about  to  leave  the  room  in  search 
of  a  messenger,  Mr.  Marks  spoke  : 

"  If  it's  a  note  you  want  taken  anywhere, 
Miss  Kate,  Hugh  can  go  for  you.  He'll  not  be 
sorry  for  a  walk,"  he  said,  nodding  toward  the 
clerk. 

"If  Mr.  Ellis  won't  mind,"  said  Katharine, 
looking  at  him  with  a  smile. 

The  young  man  put  down  his  pen,  and  came 
forward  with  an  air  which  plainly  showed  that 
he  did  not  mind.  In  shy,  boyish  fashion,  he  was 
quite  an  admirer  of  Miss  Tresham,  and  she  knew 
it. 

11  You  arc  always  ready  to  oblige  me,"  she 
said,  giving  him  the  note,  with  a  smile  that  al- 
most turned  his  head.  Then  she  followed  him 
into  the  passage.  "  See  the  gentleman  yourself, 
please,"  she  said ;  and  Hugh  promised  that  he 
would. 

After  he  was  gone,  she  went  into  the  un- 
furnished parlor,  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
floor,  chinking  the  bag  of  gold  which  she  kept 
whispering  to  herself  would  buy  her  freedom — 
at  least,  for  the  present.  After  a  while,  how- 
ever, she  found  it  heavy,  and  put  it  down  on  the 
window-sill,  for  tables  or  chairs  there  were  none. 
Then,  as  she  stood  waiting,  the  forlorn  aspect  of 
every  thing  around  began  to  strike  her.  Few 
things  are  more  forlorn  than  an  empty  room — a 


room  of  bare  floor,  naked  walls,  uncurtained  win- 
dows— and  when,  together  with  these  things,  the 
day  is  cloudy,  and  the  prospect  without  not  a 
whit  more  enlivening  than  the  prospect  within,  it 
would  take  a  very  strong  mind  indeed  to  with- 
stand the  effect  of  time  and  place.  Some  people 
are  peculiarly  susceptible  to  influences  like  these, 
and  Katharine  was  one  of  them.  Those  who 
knew  her  well  thought  she  deserved  a  great  deal 
of  credit  for  being  as  quiet  and  full  of  practical 
common-sense  as  she  generally  proved  herself; 
for  she  possessed  in  unfortunate  degree  that 
sensitiveness  to  outside  events,  that  capability 
of  being  deeply  affected  by  outside  things,  which 
sober,  phlegmatic  folk  are  fond  of  calling  "  non- 
sense." Engrossed  as  she  now  was  by  thoughts 
of  the  coming  interview,  she  was  not  so  en- 
grossed but  that  she  noticed  at  the  time,  and 
remembered  afterward,  every  separate  detail  that 
went  to  make  up  the  scene  around  her — every 
grotesque  figure  on  the  sickly  green  wall-paper, 
every  cobweb  across  the  dusty,  fly-specked  win- 
dows, every  tree  and  shrub  in  the  yard  outside. 
She  was  looking  at  her  watch,  and  thinking  how 
fast  time  was  going,  when  the  click  of  the  gate- 
latch  make  her  start,  and,  looking  up,  she  saw 
Hugh  Ellis  ushering  in  St.  John. 

As  they  entered  the  passage,  she  opened  the 
parlor  door,  and  motioned  the  latter  to  enter. 
When  he  obeyed,  she  closed  it  again,  and,  with- 
out speaking,  walked  to  the  window  where  the 
bag  of  money  lay.  Taking  it  in  her  hand,  she 
turned  and  held  it  out  as  he  approached. 

"  Here  it  is,  St.  John,"  she  said.  "  I  wish  it 
was  more,  but,  such  as  it  is,  you  are  welcome  to 
it.  Don't  think  that  I  grudge  you  one  shilling 
when  I  say — will  you  go  now  and  leave  me  in 
peace?  " 

"  You  think  of  nothing  but  yourself,"  said 
he,  without  touching  the  money.  "From  first 
to  last,  you  have  thought  of  nothing  but  your- 
self, and  of  being  '  left  in  peace.'  Yet,  there  are 
people  who  call  women  unselfish." 

"  If  I  think  of  myself,  who  forced  me  to  do 
so?"  said  she.  "St.  John,  don't  let  us  recrimi- 
nate now.  Here  is  the  money.  Take  it — believe 
me,  you  are  welcome  to  it." 

"  As  a  price  to  get  rid  of  me." 

"  No — as  a  relief  freely  given." 

"  It's  a  devilish  mean  thing  to  take  it,"  said 
he.  But  still  he  did  take  it — opening  his  eyes  a 
little  at  the  amount. 

"  You  must  have  been  hoarding,  Katharine," 
he  said.  "  Or  else  they  pay  like  princes  here." 

"  They  pay  very  well,"  she  answered,  "  and  I 


114 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


bare  not  spent  much.    I  have  had  no  need  to  do 
•o." 

"  What  is  the  amount  ?  " 

"  A  thousand  dollars.  I  took  gold,  because 
I  thought  you  would  prefer  it  to  bank-notes." 

"This  is  better,"  said  he,  a  little  absently. 
He  weighed  the  bag  in  his  hand,  with  an  expert 
gesture.  "Two  hundred  pounds  sterling,"  said 
be.  "  Katharine,  is  it  worth  while  to  say  that  I 
am  much  obliged  to  you  ?  " 

"  No — it  is  not  worth  while." 

"  Very  well,"  said  he,  coolly. 

He  opened  the  bag,  took  out  some  of  the 
coin  and  looked  at  it,  put  it  back,  and  tied  up 
the  mouth  again.  Something  slightly  nervous  in 
the  action,  struck  Katharine  ;  but,  as  he  did  not 
speak,  she  spoke  herself. 

"  You  will  leave  Tallahoma  to-day,  St. 
John  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  he,  sharply.  "  Why  should  you 
think  so  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  should  detain  you,"  she 
answered.  "  I — this  is  all  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  I  am  not  considering  you,"  he  said,  coldly. 

He  turned  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
room,  looking  absently  at  the  doors  and  win- 
dows as  he  passed. 

"Is  this  rickety  old  place  a  bank?"  he 
asked,  after  a  while. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  bank — that  is,  the  bank  is  in 
the  other  room." 

"  Humph  !  They  must  offer  a  premium  for 
feats  of  burglary." 

"It  is  secure  enough,"  Katharine  answered 
— adding,  suddenly,  "  St.  John,  don't  waste  time 
'ike  this.  Tell  me  what  you  mean  by  saying 
that  you  will  not  leave  here." 

"  I  mean  that  I  have  found  work  to  do,"  he 
answered,  coming  back,  and  pausing  before  her. 
"  I  mean,  Katharine,  that  I  have  found  the  thing 
I  most  need,  and  least  hoped  for — a  claim  on 
Fraser." 

"  A  claim  1 — here  I — St.  John,  are  you  mad  ?  " 

"If  I  am,  it  is  the  luckiest  fit  of  madness 
that  ever  came  to  anybody,"  he  replied,  with  a 
short  laugh.  "  No,  I  am  quite  sane,  and  I  tell 
you — " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Katharine,  catching  his  arm 
with  a  force  that  surprised  him.  "  Hush  !— what 
Is  that  ?  " 

They  both  stood  quite  silent,  and  listened— 
Bt  John  full  of  astonishment,  Katharine  full  of 
suspense.    Through  the  closed  door,  there  came 
the  sound  of  a  rustling  dress  and  a  woman's  voice . 
in  the  passage  beyond.    As  soon  as  Miss  Tresham 


heard  this,  she  turned  and  glanced  out  of  the  win- 
dow  near  by.  To  her  dismay,  the  Annesley  car- 
riage stood  before  the  gate. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said,  hastily.  "  It  is  Mrs. 
French.  St.  John,  don't  keep  me — I  must  go." 

"  Who  is  Mrs.  French  ?  "  he  asked,  impa- 
tiently. "  I  want  to  see  you — I  want  to  speak 
to  you  about  this  business." 

"  I  cannot  stay  now,"  she  said  ;  and,  as  she 
spoke,  she  moved  rapidly  across  the  room,  and 
unclosed  the  door,  just  as  there  came  a  knock  on 
the  other  side.  Opening  it  suddenly,  she  faced 
Mrs.  French,  who  was  standing  with  her  hand 
uplifted,  ready  to  knock  again. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Tresham,"  said  she,  rather  taken 
aback.  "  I  beg  pardon — I  nope  I  did  not  dis 
turb  you  ?  The  Andersons  were  not  at  home, 
so,  thinking  you  might  still  be  here,  I  called  on 
my  way  to  Mrs.  Marks.  Mr.  Marks  told  me  that 
you  were  in  this  room,  and  I  merely  wanted  to 
let  you  know  that  I  had  come — I  hope  I  did  not 
disturb  you." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Katharine,  perfectly  con 
scious  that,  despite  the  obstacle  of  her  figure, 
Mrs.  French's  eyes  had  fully  explored  the  room, 
and  fully  scrutinized  St.  John,  who  was  still 
standing  near  one  of  the  windows,  and  imme- 
diately within  her  range  of  vision.  "  I  am 
ready  to  go,"  she  added.  "  Don't  let  me  detain 
you." 

"  My  time  is  quite  at  your  service,"  said 
Mrs.  French,  with  most  obliging  sweetness. 
"  I  can  wait  in  the  bank  until  you  have  finished 
your  business." 

"  I  have  entirely  finished  it,"  answered  Kath- 
arine. 

In  consequence  of  this  reply,  Mrs.  French 
had  no  alternative  but  to  turn  from  the  door, 
and  allow  Miss  Tresham  an  exit.  As  she  walked 
down  the  passage,  Katharine  paused  a  moment, 
and  motioned  St.  John  to  approach. 

"  If  you  are  anxious  to  see  me,  you  can  come 
out  to  Annesdale,"  she  said.  "  If  what  you  have 
to  say  is  important,  you  can  meet  me  to-morrow 
in  the  place  that  I  showed  you  before." 

"  At  what  hour  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  will  try  to  be  there  by  twelve,"  she  an- 
swered, after  which  she  closed  the  door,  and  fol- 
lowed Mrs.  French. 

"  Shall  I  tell  John  to  stop  at  Mrs.  Marks's  ?  " 
asked  this  lady,  as  she  moved  aside  to  let  Kath- 
arine enter  the  carriage. 

"  I  believe  not,"  Miss  Tresham  answered. 
"  I  won't  detain  you.  It  does  not  matter,  since 
,  I  shall  see  Mrs.  Marks  in  two  or  three  days." 


SPITFIRE   PLAYS  AT   HIDE-AND-SEEK. 


115 


"  Home,  John,"  said  Mrs.  French,  gathering 
her  silk  dress  in  both  hands  and  stepping  into 
the  carriage. 

Ten  minutes  after  the  equipage  rolled  out 
of  sight,  Mr.  Warwick  came  down  the  street 
toward  the  bank.  As  he  entered  the  gate,  he 
met  St.  John,  who  was  just  going  out.  A  glance 
only  passed  between  the  two  men ;  but  some- 
times a  glance  can  be  very  significant.  The 
remembrance  of  the  lawyer's  keen  eyes  gave 
the  adventurer  an  uncomfortable  feeling  as  he 
walked  along,  with  Katharine's  thousand  dollars 
safely  stowed  in  his  pockets,  while  Mr.  Warwick 
went  straight  into  the  bank  and  asked  Mr.  Marks 
what  "  that  man  "  had  wanted  there. 

"  That  man !  —  whom  do  you  mean  ?  "  in- 
quired the  cashier,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  That  St.  John,  or  Johns,  as  I  believe  he 
calls  himself — what  did  he  come  here  for  ?  " 

"  St.  John  ! — Johns ! — There  has  been  nobody 
here  of  that  name,"  said  Mr.  Marks,  looking  puz- 
zled. "  In  fact,  there  has  been  nobody  here  at 
all  since  you  left,  excepting  Mrs.  French,  who 
called  for  Miss  Tresham." 

"  The  gentleman  Mr.  Warwick  means  is  the 
one  Miss  Tresham  sent  for,"  said  Hugh  Ellis, 
looking  up.  "  I  saw  him  as  he  went  out  of  the 
gate." 

"  Miss  Tresham  sent  for  him  ?  "  repeated  Mr. 
Warwick. 

He  said  nothing  more,  but  walked  to  one 
of  the  windows,  and  stood  there  for  a  minute 
gazing  out.  Then  he  turned  and  came  back 
to  his  brother-in-law. 

"  Don't  think  I  am  meddling,"  he  said,  "  but 
if  it  is  not  confidential,  I  should  like  to  know 
what  Miss  Tresham's  business  was.  Did  she 
say  any  thing  to  you  about  that  man  ?  " 

"  She  said  nothing  about  any  man,"  replied 
Mr.  Marks.  "  She  came  to  draw  her  money." 

"  Her  money  ! " 

"  The  whole  of  her  two-years'  salary,"  said 
the  cashier.  "  A  very  pretty  little  sum  it  was, 
too,"  he  added,  approvingly.  "  A  thousand  dol- 
lars down  in  gold." 

"  Why  did  you  pay  it  in  gold  ?  " 

"  Because  she  requested  it — from  a  foreign- 
er's distrust  of  our  paper,  I  suppose.  I  did  not 
think  of  it  before,"  he  went  on,  "  but  it  looks  a 
little  as  if  she  meant  to  go  away.  If  she  did, 
I  should  be  very  sorry,  for  I  don't  know  where 
I  could  find  another  teacher  who  would  suit  us 
•11  as  she  does.  As  for  the  man,  I  don't  know 
any  thing  about  him.  She  wrote  a  note,  and 
Bent  it  by  Hugh ;  but  he  hadn't  been  here 


more  than  ten  minutes  before  Mrs.  French 
came." 

"  Did  Miss  Tresham  go  away  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  went  away  then." 

Mr.  Marks  paused  a  moment,  looked  at  his 
brother-in-law,  and  added,  hastily  : 

"  I  hope  there's  nothing  wrong  about  the 
man,  Warwick  ?  It  did  not  occur  to  me  to 
think  any  thing — somehow  I  always  feel  as  if 
Miss  Tresham  could  be  trusted  as  we  don't  trust 
every  woman  of  her  age." 

"  I  am  sure  Miss  Tresham  can  be  trusted," 
said  Mr.  Warwick,  quickly.  "  You  don't  sup- 
pose I  was  thinking  of  her  ?  Whatever  the 
man  may  be,  there's  one  thing  certain — she  can 
be  trusted." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  responded 
Mr.  Marks,  looking  relieved. 

"  Surely  you  did  not  need  to  hear  me  say 
so  ?  Now,  about  my  business.  Mrs.  Gordon 
asked  me  to  get  this  check  cashed  for  her.  She 
wants  the  money  at  once." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

SPITFIRE   PLAYS   AT   HIDE-AND-SEEK. 

"MAMMA,"  said  Mrs.  French,  entering  the 
drawing-room  where  her  mother  was  sitting 
with  half  a  dozen  ladies,  "  have  you  any  idea 
where  Miss  Tresham  is  ?  We  want  to  rehearse 
the  tableaux  for  to-morrow  evening,  and  she  is 
not  to  be  found." 

"  I  saw  her  go  to  walk  a  little  while  ago," 
said  Mrs.  Annesley,  looking  up  from  her  em- 
broidery. "  She  went  out  toward  the  shrub- 
bery, Adela.  You  had  better  send  for  her  if  you 
need  her." 

"Send  Mr.  Langdon,"  said  Mrs.  Raynor, 
laughing. 

"  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  do  any  thing  of 
the  kind,  if  you  want  to  see  either  of  them  soo» 
again,"  remarked  Mrs.  Dargan.  "  That  young 
man  is  really  absurd  !  "  she  added,  with  consid- 
erable asperity. 

"  Send  Maggie  Lester  and  Morton,"  said 
Mrs.  Annesley.  "  Spitfire  will  soon  find  her 
for  them." 

"  That  is  a  good  idea ! "  cried  Mrs.  French, 
and,  by  way  of  putting  it  into  execution,  she  im- 
mediately returned  to  the  library  where  the  prin- 
cipal  portion  of  the  party  were  assembled.  A 
lively  examination  of  engravings,  and  discussion 
of  costumes,  was  going  on  here,  and  a  great  deal 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


if  interest  and  excitement  was  afloat ;  for,  thirty 
years  ago,  tableaux  were  by  no  means  the  very 
common  and  very  boring  amusement  which  they 
are  at  present.  In  those  days  they  were  quite 
novel,  especially  in  country  districts — and,  in 
consequence  of  the  novelty,  were  considered 
very  fascinating.  Not  long  before  this,  Mrs. 
French  had  assisted  at  an  exhibition  of  the 
kind  in  Mobile,  and  she  was  anxious  to  intro- 
duce the  new  amusement  into  Lagrange.  Hav- 
ing abundant  material  at  hand,  in  the  matter  of 
pretty  girls,  obliging  gentlemen,  and  an  unlimited 
command  of  costume,  she  determined  on  giving 
a  New-Year  entertainment  of  this  character. 
All  the  company  received  the  idea  with  enthu- 
siasm, and  the  only  danger  was  that  their  zeal 
might  outrun  their  discretion,  inasmuch  as  they 
seemed  anxious  to  prolong  the  entertainment  in- 
definitely by  representing  every  conceivable  scene, 
and  personating  every  imaginable  character  with- 
in the  range  of  history  or  fiction.  At  length, 
however,  this  vaulting  ambition  was  somewhat 
curbed,  and  the  programme,  after  much  weeding, 
was  finally  made  out.  Of  course,  the  usual  trou- 
ble about  the  distribution  of  parts — the  trouble 
which  is  the  bane  of  private  theatricals,  and  all 
affairs  of  the  kind — ensued.  But,  by  judicious 
management,  the  stormy  waters  were  allayed, 
and,  after  many  compromises,  peace  was  at  length 
secured.  But  only  peace  in  partial  form.  Char- 
acters being  settled,  dress  yet  remained  an  open 
question ;  and,  when  Mrs.  French  entered  the 
library,  a  warm  discussion  was  in  progress. 

"  I  tell  you  it  ought  to  be  black  velvet  and 
pearls,"  Miss  Lester  was  saying,  decidedly,  as 
her  friend  walked  up  and  touched  her  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  Let  the  black  velvet  alone  just  now,  Mag- 
gie," she  said.  "  I  want  you  to  go  out  into  the 
grounds  and  look  for  Miss  Tresham.  Mamma 
saya  she  went  to  walk.  I  wouldn't  ask  you,  only 
you  are  so  fond  of  exercise;  and,  if  you  take 
Spitfire,  he  will  soon  show  you  where  she  is.  We 
must  have  her  to  settle  about  the  dress  of  Queen 
Mary.  Please  take  Morton  with  you,  and  see  if 
you  can't  find  her." 

"Do  you  hear  that,  Mr.  Annesley?"  asked 
Miss  Lester,  who  was  ready  at  once  for  the  part 
assigned  her.  "  The  morning  is  charming,  and 
I  should  like  nothing  better  than  a  walk.  Spit- 
fire will  like  a  game  of  hide-and-seek,  too.  He 
will  find  Miss  Tresham  for  you  in  no  time,  Adcla. 
Meanwhile  "—this  to  the  lady  to  whom  she  had 
been  talking  before — "  remember  that  I  say  black 
velvet  and  pearls." 


Spitfire  was  quite  willing  for  a  walk  and  a 
game  of  hide-and-seek,  while  Morton,  for  hia 
part,  was  heartily  tired  of  talk  about  doublets, 
and  ruffs,  and  colored  lights,  and  gauze  screens. 

"Oh,  we  can't  let  Mr.  Annesley  go — we 
haven't  settled  on  the  costume  of  the  Master  of 
llavenswood  yet ! "  cried  one  or  two  ladies,  as  he 
rose  with  alacrity  to  follow  Miss  Lester  from  the 
room. 

"  He  won't  be  long,"  said  Adela,  philosophi- 
cally. "  What  do  you  think  Lucy  Ashton  ought 
to  wear  ? — a  bridal  dress,  of  course ;  but  in  what 
shape  ?  " 

"  Which  way  shall  we  go,  Miss  Lester  ? " 
asked  Morton,  as  they  descended  the  front  stepa 
together. 

"  We  will  ask  Spitfire  that,"  the  young  lady 
answered.  "  Here,  Spitfire  !  —  seek,  sir,  seek  ! 
Find  Miss  Tresham — Oh,  I  forgot,"  as  Spitfire 
stood  looking  very  confused  and  irresolute.  "  I 
must  have  something  of  Miss  Tresham's  to  show 
him.  Mr.  Annesley,  run  into  the  hall  and  see  if 
you  can't  find  me  something." 

Mr.  Annesley  did  as  he  was  bid — that  is,  he 
walked  into  the  hall,  and  returned  after  a  minute 
or  two  with  a  long  crimson  scarf.  "  I  think 
this  is  Miss  Tresham's,"  he  said.  "  I  have  seen 
her  wear  it  several  times." 

"  Here,  Spitfire,  here ! "  said  his  mistress, 
shaking  the  scarf  at  him,  as,if  she  was  a  mata- 
dore  and  Spitfire  was  the  bull  she  wished  to  en- 
rage. "  Here,  pet !  and  now  go  and  seek  Misa 
Tresham." 

Thanks  to  the  instructions  of  "  Cousin  Tom," 
Spitfire  was  tolerably  well  trained.  He  sniffed  at 
the  scarf,  then  trotted  about  a  little,  sniffed  at  the 
ground  in  much  the  same  disdainful  fashion,  and 
finally  set  off  toward  the  shrubbery. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Miss  Lester,  beginning  to 
walk  very  fast;  and  Morton  came  on,  as  request- 
ed. Fast  walking  is  not  the  most  graceful  thing 
in  the  world,  as  we  who  live  in  this  day  have 
ample  opportunity  for  observing;  but,  on  the 
31st  of  December,  when  the  sun  is  clouded  over, 
and  the  air  decidedly  sharp,  it  is  at  least  a  com- 
fortable thing.  Miss  Lester's  cheeks  had  bright 
roses  in  them  when  at  last  she  came  to  a  halt. 
"  Where  has  Spitfire  gone  ?  "  she  cried,  laughing. 
"  I  am  afraid  we  shall  have  to  look  for  him,  with- 
out the  advantage,  which  he  has,  of  a  nose  as  a 
guide." 

"  This  way,  I  think,"  said  Morton,  and  he 
turned  down  a  path  that  led  into  the  wildest  and 
prettiest  part  of  the  grounds.  The  woods,  which 
had  been  enclosed  here,  were  left  almost  eDt.irelj 


SPITFIRE   PLAYS   AT   IIIDE-AND-SEEK. 


117 


»s  Nature  arranged  them,  excepting  that  the  en-  i 
lumbering  undergrowth  of  the  forest  had  been 
cleared  away,  and  now  and  then  a  rustic  seat  was 
placed  in  some  shady  nook.  In  spring,  summer, 
or  autumn,  a  lovelier  spot  was  not  to  be  found 
within  the  borders  of  Lagrange ;  but  it  looked 
cheerless  enough  on  this  bleak  December  day, 
with  the  leafless  trees  standing  out  like  fine  pen- 
cil  tracery  against  a  dull,  gray  sky,  and  the  brown 
earth  covered  only  with  dry,  fallen  leaves. 

"I  don't  think  Spitfire  came  this  way,"  said 
Miss  Lester,  a  little  pettishly,  for  she  did  not 
fancy  walking  down  a  steep  hill  with  the  as- 
sured certainty  that  she  would  have  to  walk  up 
again. 

"  Fam  sure  he  did,"  said  Annesley ;  "  but,  if 
you  are  tired,  we  won't  go  on.  No  doubt  he  will 
bring  Miss  Tresham  to  us  after  a  while.  Here  is 
a  seat — pray  sit  down." 

"  No,  we  might  as  well  go  on.  There ! — is 
not  that  Spitfire  that  I  hear  ?  " 

It  was  Spitfire,  undoubtedly.  From  no  other 
canine  throat  could  such  a  volume  of  shrill  sound 
have  issued — a  vehement  barking,  of  the  most  in- 
dignant kind,  that  was  borne  with  singular  dis- 
tinctness through  the  still  air. 

"  He  can't  be  attacking  Miss  Tresham  in  that 
way,"  said  Morton,  quickly. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Spitfire's  mistress,  with  the 
coolness  which  characterizes  the  owners  of  bad 
dogs,  when  those  dogs  are  annoying  or  terrifying 
other  people  within  an  inch  of  their  lives.  "  He 
— he  has  met  somebody  else — somebody  that  he 
don't  know.  Let  us  walk  faster,"  she  went  on, 
more  eagerly,  "  or  he  may  be  hurt." 

"  The  somebody  may  be  hurt,  do  you  mean  ?  " 
asked  Annesley,  as  he  quickened  his  pace  in  ac- 
cordance with  her  own.  "  Surely  Spitfire  will  not 
really  bite  ?  " 

"The  somebody!"  echoed  the  young  lady, 
with  an  indignation  that  startled  him.  "You 
don't  suppose  I  am  thinking  of  the  somebody — 
I  mean  that  Spitfire  himself  may  be  hurt." 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  gentleman,  thus  enlightened 
— then  he  added,  with  a  smile,  "  perhaps  he  may. 
I  would  not  answer  for  what  I  might  do  under 
such  provocation  as  that." 

"  That "  was  the  furious  sounds  of  rage  to 
which  Spitfire  was  giving  utterance  as  they  ap- 
proached. Other  sounds  were  also  audible  now 
— Katharine's  voice  calling  him  off,  and  a  man's 
voice  angrily  bidding  him  be  gone. 

•'Some  one  is  with  Miss  Tresham,"  said  Mor- 
ton, stopping  with  an  instinctive  hesitation — an 
'nstinctive  remembrance  of  that  other  meeting 


of  which  his  mother  had  spoken  two  days  be- 
fore. 

But  he  stopped  too  late.  Urged  by  a  fear  for 
Spitfire's  safety,  Miss  Lester  rushed  eagerly  for- 
ward, and  he  could  not  decline  to  follow.  A  few 
more  steps  brought  them  into  the  little  dell,  of 
which  mention  has  before  been  made,  and  there 
the  combat  was  raging  hotly — Spitfire  barking 
fiercely,  and  making  frantic  dashes  at  the  feet 
and  legs  of  St.  John,  the  latter  defending  himself 
with  considerable  bravery,  and  Katharine  trying, 
by  alternate  persuasion  and  command,  to  draw 
off  the  assailant. 

Upon  this  scene  Miss  Lester  rushed,  just  as 
St.  John  lost  patience,  and,  stooping,  took  up  a 
stone.  Before  he  could  throw  it,  his  arm  was 
peremptorily  caught. 

"  How  dare  you ! "  cried  the  indignant  and 
breathless  owner  of  Spitfire.  "  How  dare  " — a 
long  pant — "  dare  you  throw  stones  at  my  dog  ? 
I  wonder  you  are  not  ashamed  of  yourself — a 
great  big  man  like  you  to  be  afraid  of  a  little  dog 
like  that ! " 

"  Excuse  me,"  stammered  he,  turning  round 
in  astonishment,  and  finding  himself  in  the  grasp 
of  a  young  and  pretty  woman.  "  I  did  not  mean 
to  hurt  him — but  he  attacked  me  without  provoca- 
tion, and  " — he  added,  with  a  sudden  effort  to  re- 
cover the  self-possession  that  had  escaped  him — 
" '  though  he  be  but  little,  he  is  fierce.'  You 
must  confess  that." 

"  How  could  you  let  him  do  it  ?  "  said  Miss 
Lester,  turning  to  Katharine,  "  and  when  Spitfire 
— poor,  dear  fellow — came  out  to  look  for  you, 
too !  But  what  is  the  matter  ? — are  you  not 
well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  well,"  said  Katharine,  trying  to 
smile — a  piteous  attempt  which  touched  Annes- 
ley— "but  first  Spitfire,  and  then  you,  startled 
me  a  little.  I  was  not  expecting  any  one." 

"  Adela  sent  us  to  look  for  you,"  said  Miss 
Lester,  turning  her  back  on  the  gentleman,  al 
the  more  determinedly  because  she  was  dying  of 
curiosity  to  look  at  him.  In  her  own  fashion, 
she  was  a  girl  of  very  high-minded  ideas,  though ; 
and  she  kept  her  eyes  steadily  fastened  on  Kath- 
arine's face.  "  Adela  sent  us  for  you.  She 
wants  to  rehearse  the  tableaux,  and  you  forget 
that  you  are  Queen  Mary  and  Joan  of  Arc." 

"  I  did  forget  it  entirely,"  said  Katharine. 
"  I  will  go  back  with  you  at  once.  Mr." — she 
paused  a  moment  —  "  Mr.  Johns,  perhaps  Mr. 
Annesley  will  be  kind  enough  to  show  you  the 
way  out  of  the  grounds." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Annesley,  with  a  grave 


118 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


bi  w,  "  unless  you  will  permit  me  to  suggest  the 
amendment  that  you  introduce  me  to  your  friend, 
and  that  he  will  do  me  the  honor  to  return  with 
us  to  the  house." 

Katharine  cast  a  quick  look  of  mingled  appre- 
hension and  entreaty  at  St.  John  before  going 
through  the  form  of  introduction,  in  a  voice  that 
was  not  quite  steady.  She  might  have  spared 
herself  the  apprehension  she  entertained.  St. 
John  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  lie  bowed 
with  easy  grace,  and  regretted  that  he  could 
not  accept  Mr.  Annesley's  courteous  invitation ; 
then  bowed  again  to  the  ladies,  as  Katharine 
said  to  Miss  Lester,  "  Shall  we  return  now  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  the  young  lady  an- 
swered. "  Here,  Spitfire  !  here  pet !  I  am 
afraid  to  leave  him  there,"  she  went  on,  as 
Katharine  and  herself  mounted  the  hill.  "  He 
has  evidently  taken  a  great  dislike  to  that  gen- 
tleman, and,  when  Spitfire  takes  a  dislike  to  any- 
body, he  never  gets  over  it.  He — your  friend — 
was  about  to  hurt  him  when  I  came  up." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Katharine.  Then  she 
added,  suddenly :  "  Don't  call  him  my  friend.  I 
know  him,  and  he  chanced  to  be  here  and  meet 
me — that  is  all." 

"  You  know  him ! "  repeated  Miss  Lester, 
looking  at  her.  "  Excuse  me,  but  you  say  that 
as  if  you  did  not  like  him." 

"  1  don't  like  him." 

"  Then,  if  I  were  you,"  said  the  other,  with 
sudden  frankness,  "  I  would  not  meet  him  in  this 
sort  of  way.  I  wouldn't  do  it  for  a  man  I  liked, 
and  I  am  sure  I  would  see  a  man  I  didn't  like 
shot  ten  times  over  first.  Don't  think  me  imper- 
tinent, Miss  Tresham,"  she  went  on,  "  but  I  like 
y>u,  and  I  thought  I  would  tell  you  how  people 
consider  such  things  here.  You  are  a  stranger, 
and  perhaps  don't  know  our  customs.  Of  course, 
I  shall  not  gossip  about  the  matter,  and,  as  for 
Morton  Annesley,  he  is  true  as  steel ;  but  still, 
if  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  do  it.  Are  you  offend- 
ed with  me?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Katharine,  smiling 
faintly.  "  You  mean  kindly,  and,  therefore,  I 
could  not  be  offended.  You  simply  don't  under- 
stand." 

The  last  words  were  uttered  so  quietly,  and 
with  so  much  unconscious  dignity,  that  they  had 
their  effect  upon  Miss  Lester.  She  hesitated  a 
minute  before  answering. 

"  No,  I  don't  understand,  of  course,  and  I 
don't  mean  to  judge  either.  But  I  can  see  how 
tilings  look,  Miss  Tresham,  and  it  was  of  looks 
that  T  was  speaking." 


"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Katharine,  absently. 

Meanwhile  Morton  and  the  companion  who 
had  been  presented  to  him  were  crossing  the 
grounds  to  the  side-gate  through  which  St.  John 
had  entered.  A  few  commonplace  remarks  about 
the  weather  were  interchanged  as  they  proceed- 
ed  ;  but,  when  they  reached  the  gate,  instead  of 
opening  it,  Annesley  stopped  and  faced  the  other. 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Johns,"  he  said,  gravely, 
"  if  I  ask  leave  to  speak  a  few  words  before  we 
part.  Of  course,  I  do  not  know  why  you  pre- 
ferred to  see  Miss  Tresham  in  the  grounds,  but 
permit  me  to  remind  you  that  the  house  is  only 
a  short  distance  from  the  place  where  I  met  you, 
and  that  any  one  of  Miss  Tresham's  friends  is 
cordially  welcome  there." 

"  It  was  by  Miss  Tresham's  own  request  that 
I  met  her  where  I  did,"  answered  St.  John, 
coldly.  "  I  will  bid  you  good-morning,  with  the 
assurance  that  I  shall  not  invade  your  domain 
again." 

"  I  hope  you  understand  that  it  was  on  Miss 
Tresham's  account  that  I  spoke,"  said  Morton, 
flushing  a  little. 

The  other  lifted  his  hat  with  a  courtesy  so 
ceremonious  that  it  had  not  a  little  of  mockery 
in  it. 

"  In  Miss  Tresham's  name,  allow  me  to  thank 
you,"  he  answered.  "  The  only  thing  that  puz. 
zles  me  is  the  cause  of  this  kind  solicitude." 

"  Miss  Tresham  is  one  of  my  mother's  guests," 
said  Annesley,  with  a  good  deal  of  unconscious 
hauteur.  He  opened  the  gate,  and  raised  his 
own  hat,  as  St.  John  passed  through.  Nothing 
more  was  said  on  either  side.  They  parted  with 
a  couple  of  stiff  bows  that  would  have  become 
a  pair  of  duellists ;  and,  as  St.  John  strode 
away  in  the  direction  of  Tallahoma,  Annesley 
went  back  to  the  house. 

When  he  entered  the  hall  he  was  at  once 
waylaid  by  Mr.  Langdon,  and  marched  nolens 
volcns  into  the  back  drawing-room,  where  a  re- 
hearsal was  going  on. 

"  No  mutiny,  young  man,"  said  the  latter,  as 
Morton  tried  to  get  away  on  a  pretext  of  busi- 
ness. "  I  was  sent  in  search  of  you,  and  it  is  as 
much  as  my  life  is  worth  to  go  back  without  you. 
Queen  Adela  is  regnant  just  now,  and  she  would 
think  nothing  of  ordering  my  head  to  be  taken 
off  for  disobedience  of  orders.  In  with  you !  " 

He  gave  his  captive  no  time  for  expostula- 
tion, but  ushered  him  straight  into  the  room 
where  the  stage  of  Christmas  Eve  was  again 
erected.  Strangely  enough  the  two  women 
i  whom  Morton  had  last  seen  together  in  the 


SPITFIRE   PLAYS   AT   HIDE-AND-SEEK. 


119 


grounds  were  the  first  on  whom  his  eye  fell 
as  he  entered. 

They  were  now  confronting  each  other  in 
tragic  attitude — Miss  Lester  as  Queen  Elizabeth, 
Katharine  as  Queen  Mary,  in  the  famous  scene 
from  Schiller's  "  Marie  Stuart." 

In  these  days  all  the  world  knows  that  scene, 
for  all  the  world  has  seen  Ristori  act  it.  But 
then  it  was  something  new,  and  something  for 
which  the  world  of  Lagrange  was  indebted  to 
Morton  Annesley.  He,  knowing  and  admiring 
Schiller  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  German 
student,  had  suggested  the  picture,  and  given 
his  opinion  concerning  a  proper  selection  of  the 
characters. 

"  Maggie  Lester  would  do  for  an  immensely- 
flattered  Queen  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"  She  can't  deny  that  her  hair  is  red.  And,  if 
you  were  to  put  a  Marie-Stuart  coif  and  curls  on 
Miss  Tresham,  I  am  sure  she  would  look  like  the 
Queen  of  Scots.  The  color  of  her  hair  and  the 
cast  of  her  features  are  not  unlike  the  portraits 
of  the  royal  beauty." 

When  he  came  in  just  now  poor  Queen  Mary 
was  thinking  of  any  thing  else  but  her  cowering 
rival  or  her  deadly  wrongs.  She  saw  him  enter, 
and,  though  she  could  not  turn  her  head,  she 
shot  a  wistful  glance  out  of  the  corners  of  her 
eyes  which  Mrs.  French  caught  as  well  as  himself. 

This  astute  lady  had  made  nothing  of  Maggie 
Lester's  reserve  and  self-possession.  But  a  look 
at  her  brother's  face  told  her  all  that  she  wanted 
to  know. 

"  He  has  seen  him  !  "  she  thought ;  and  the 
knowledge  acted  on  her  like  a  stimulant,  enliven- 
ing her  spirits  as  if  by  magic. 

After  that  the  tableaux  went  on  bravely,  for 
everybody  was  held  well  in  hand  by  their  fair 
ruler,  and  nobody  ventured  on  any  open  signs 
of  weariness  or  dissatisfaction. 

It  was  not  until  the  rehearsal  ended,  and 
most  of  the  company  had  dispersed  to  dress  for 
dinner,  that  Katharine  found  an  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  Morton.  He  was  standing  near  the 
stage,  directing  the  servants,  who  were  arranging 
some  of  the  decorations,  when  she  walked  up  to 
him. 

"  Mr.  Annesley,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  "  I 
should  like  to  speak  to  you.  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you.  May  I  say  it  now  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered,  turning  at  the  first 
sound  of  her  voice.  "  Shall  we  go  into  the  libra- 
ry ?" 

"  No,  it  is  only  a  few  words.  If  you  will 
come  here — " 


She  walked  away,  and  he  followed  her.  Every 
one,  excepting  the  servants,  had  now  left  the 
room.  On  one  side  was  a  bay-window,  and  into 
this  Katharine  went. 

"  It  is  only  a  few  words,"  she  repeated,  aa 
Annesley  followed  her ;  "  but  I  should  not  like 
for  any  one  to  hear  them." 

"  There  is  no  danger  of  any  one's  doing  so 
here,"  he  answered. 

Then  he  was  silent,  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 
After  a  minute  she  began,  with  a  nervous  haste 
of  manner  that  had  grown  habitual  with  her  of 
late. 

"  It  is  not  about  myself,  Mr.  Annesley.  It  ia 
about  Mrs.  Gordon.  I  know  that  you  are  much 
attached  to  her,  and — and  I  thought  I  would 
tell  you,  so  that  perhaps  you  might  be  of  service 
to  her.  She  is  threatened,  if  not  with  danger,  at 
least  with  serious  annoyance." 

Now,  this  was  the  last  sort  of  communication 
which  Morton  could  possibly  have  expected  to 
hear,  and  the  surprise  which  he  naturally  felt 
showed  itself  at  once  in  his  face  and  manner. 

"  Mrs.  Gordon  threatened  with  serious  an- 
noyance ! "  he  repeated,  with  a  start.  "  Pardon 
me,  but  you  must  be  mistaken.  There  is  no  one 
who  would  dare — "  , 

"  There  is  some  one  who  has  the  right  to 
dare,"  she  interposed,  hastily.  "  Believe  me,  I 
know  what  I  am  saying.  She  is  certainly  threat, 
ened  with  very  serious  annoyance  and  distress." 

A  sudden  dark  flush  rose  over  his  face,  and 
he  frowned  as  Katharine  had  never  seen  him 
frown  before.  She  recognized  then  what  many 
other  people  had  recognized  before,  that  to 
touch  Mrs.  Gordon  was  to  assail  him  in  one  of 
his  most  sensitive  points. 

"  By  whom,  and  hi  what  way  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  that.  I  would  if  it  were 
my  secret ;  but  it  is  not  mine — it  is  Mrs.  Gor- 
don's. It  came  to  my  knowledge  accidentally, 
and  I  cannot  repeat  it.  Go  to  her,  and,  if  she 
wishes  you  to  serve  her,  she  will  tell  you  herself. 
I — I  am  very  sorry  for  her,"  said  the  girl,  with 
tears  coming  into  her  eyes.  "She  has  a  hard 
lot.  I  wish  I  could  help  her.  Perhaps  you  can, 
Mr.  Annesley — you  are  a  man." 

"  I  will  try,  at  least,"  he  said.  "  Shall  I— 
would  you  advise  me  to  go  at  once  ?  " 

"  At  once." 

He  moved  away  a  few  steps,  turned  abruptly, 
and  came  back. 

"  Miss  Tresham,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  is  there 
nothing  I  can  do  for  yourself?" 

She  knew  what  he  meant.     She  knew  that  ha 


120 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


would  not  ask  her  confidence,  or  seem  to  request 
an  explanation  of  the  events  of  that  morning. 
But  she  also  knew  that  he  gave  her  an  opportu- 
nity— perhaps  a  last  one — to  right  herself  in  his 
eyes.  Some  instinct  told  her  that  much  hung 
on  her  reply,  and  she  gave  a  slight  gasp  over_ 
it 

"  Nothing,  Mr.  Annesley." 
"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  he  said. 
Then,  as  if  afraid  to  trust  himself  to  speak 
another  word,  he  walked  away. 
In  the  hall  he  met  his  mother. 
"  Where  are  you  going,  Morton  ?  "  she  asked, 
ns  she  saw  him  take  his  gloves  and  riding-whip 
from  the  stand.     "  Don't  you  know  that  dinner 
is  nearly  ready  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  be  back  to  dinner,"  he  answered. 
"  Make  my  apologies,  if  you  please,  mother,  and 
say  that  important  business  called  me  away." 
"  Why,  where  are  you  going  ?  " 
"  I  will  tell  you  when  I  come  back.     I  have 
not  tune  to  talk  now." 
"  But,  Morton—" 

She  spoke  in  vain.  Morton  was  gone.  When 
she  followed  him  to  the  door  he  was  walking 
rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  stables,  and,  not 
long  afterward,  she  saw  him,  from  her  chamber 
window,  canter  away  in  the  direction  of  Talla- 
horna. 

It  was  not  to  Tallaboma  that  he  was  bound, 
however.  The  last  sun  of  the  Old  Year  had 
given  a  lew  golden  gleams,  and  was  sinking  to 
rest  in  a  bed  of  soft,  violet  cloud,  when  he  dis- 
mounted from  Ilderim  before  the  door  of  Morton 
House.  Rapidly  as  he  had  ridden,  he  noticed 
along  the  avenue  the  fresh  track  of  carriage- 
wheels,  and  the  fact  puzzled  him  a  little.  Mrs. 
Gordon  never  left  home,  and  nobody  ever  came 
to  the  house.  At  an  ordinary  time  he  might 
merely  have  thought  that  one  of  these  rules  had 
been  broken ;  but  now,  with  the  remembrance 
of  Katharine's  vague  warning  in  his  mind,  he 
felt  an  uncomfortable  foreboding  of  ill.  This 
foreboding  was  increased  as  he  approached  the 
terrace  and  saw  a  group  of  negroes  loitering  with 
sorrowful  faces  around  the  steps. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  as  one  of 
them  came  forward  and  took  his  horse.  "  Has 
any  thing  happened  that  you  all  look  as  if  you 
bad  been  to  a  funeral  ?  " 

"  Mass  Felix  is  gone,  sir,"  answered  the  boy 
addressed,  in  a  tone  which  indicated  tkat  he 
thought  this  a  sufficient  reason  for  any  length 
af  visage. 

"Felix! — gone—!"  Annesley  repeated      A 


sudden  fear,  common  enough  iu  that  country 
and  at  that  time,  startled  him.  "  Do  you  mean 
that  he  is  lost  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,  sir,"  answered  the  boy,  quickly. 
"  Mr.  Warwick  came  and  took  him  away  in  a 
carriage.  They  hadn't  left  more'n  a  few  minutes 
before  you  got  here,  sir." 

"  Did  his  mother — did  your  mistress  go 
too  ?  " 

"  No,  sir — she's  in  the  house." 

"  Very  well.  Keep  my  horse  here.  I  shall 
be  back  directly."  . 

He  walked  hastily  to  the  house,  and  on  the 
portico  met  Harrison,  who  was  wearing  a  most 
lugubrious  face. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Harrison  ?  " 
Morton  asked,  quickly.  "  Where  has  Felix  gone  ? 
— and  why  has  he  been  sent  away  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  only  knows,  Mass  Morton,"  said 
the  old  man,  dolefully.  "  Miss  Pauline  and  Mr. 
Warwick  done  it.  I  don't  think  they  asked  any- 
body's advice,  sir — they  just  packed  up  Mass 
Felix's  clothes,  and  took  him  right  away.  It 
was  hard  on  the  poor  child,  sir,  for  he  didn't 
want  to  go  ;  and  if  you  could  a-heard  him  a-cry- 
ing,  sir,  it  would  almost  a-broke  your  heart." 

"  I  am  glad  I  didn't  hear  him  then,"  said 
Morton,  who  saw  plainly  that  the  whole  feeling 
of  the  household  was  ranged  on  Felix's  side. 
"  But  his  mother  must  have  had  some  good  rea- 
son for  sending  him  away.  Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  In  her  own  room,  Mass  Morton,"  answered 
Harrison,  following  the  young  man  into  the 
house.  "  You  better  go  into  the  drawing-room, 
sir,  and  I'll  ask  if  Miss  Pauline  can  see  you.  I 
don't  mean  to  blame  Miss  Pauline,"  he  added, 
with  an  air  of  severe  justice.  "  To  be  sure  she 
must  a  had  her  reasons  onbeknownst  to  the  rest 
of  us.  But  it  was  hard  on  Mass  Felix — and  hire 
so  young." 

"  A  great  many  things  are  hard,"  said  Mor- 
ton, "  but  they  must  be  done.  Send  Babette  to 
ask  my  cousin  if  she  will  see  me." 

In  a  few  minutes,  Babette  entered  the  room, 
and  said  that  Mrs.  Gordon  would  see  him.  The 
Frenchwoman's  eyes  were  red  with  weeping,  and 
her  face  was  sadly  swollen  from  the  same  caase. 
Morton  felt  sorry  for  her,  and  said  so — at  which 
she  startled  him  by  a  fresh  burst  of  tears. 

"  Ah,  madarrte — poor  madame  !  "  cried  she. 
"  M'sieur,  comfort  her,  if  you  can.  She  ia 
heart-broken — she  will  die  of  grief,  if  she  is  not 
comforted." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  said  he  ;  "  but  if  Felix 
is  gone,  I  fear  that  will  not  be  much.  Cheei 


SPITFIRE   PLAYS  AT   HIDE-AND-SEEK. 


121 


up,  Babette !  Surely  he  will  be  back  before 
long." 

"  Le  bon  Dieu  only  knows,"  answered  Ba- 
bette. And,  as  he  crossed  the  hall,  he  heard  her 
sobbing  behind  him. 

Poor  Morton !  There  is  no  exaggeration  in 
saying  that  he  would  sooner  have  faced  any  dan- 
ger which  could  possibly  be  imagined,  than  the 
scene  which  fancy  painted  as  awaiting  him  in 
Mrs.  Gordon's  room.  The  sobs,  the  tears — Ba- 
bette's  noisy  grief  was,  of  course,  only  a  faint 
shadow  of  what  the  bereaved  mother  must  feel. 
He  set  his  teeth,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  door- 
knob— then  turned  it,  and  entered. 

All  was  quiet  within.  On  the  hearth  the  fire 
burned  ;  outside  the  windows,  a  soft,  sad  requiem 
of  the  dying  year  was  moaning  through  the  tall 
trees ;  but  no  human  sob  or  sigh  was  borne  to 
Annesley's  ear.  A  figure  clad  in  black  sat  on 
one  side  of  the  fireplace,  and  held  out  her  hand 
as  he  advanced. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  quietly.  "  You 
are  very  welcome.  Is  it  not  cold  ?  Draw  nearer 
the  fire.  Well  " — with  a  faint,  mournful  smile — 
"  have  you  heard  the  news  ?  I  am  desolate." 

"  I  have  heard  it,"  he  answered. 

He  could  say  no  more ;  for,  although  he  ought, 
to  have  been  relieved,  he  was,  in  truth,  more 
deeply  affected  by  her  quietude  than  he  could 
have  been  by  any  vehement  outbreak  whatever. 
The  hopeless  accent  of  the  last  words  went 
straight  to  his  heart,  and  touched  it  more  than 
tears  could  have  done.  He  said  nothing ;  but 
he  kept  her  hand  tightly  clasped  in  his  for  sev- 
eral minutes. 

"  I  see  you  feel  for  me,"  she  said — "  you  do 
not  think  it  is  foolish  to  mind  it  so." 

"  No  words  can  say  how  much  I  feel  for  you," 
he  answered. 

"  It  might  be  foolish,  perhaps,"  she  went 
on,  "  if  he  was  not  my  all.  But  he  is,  you 
know  —  literally  every  thing  that  I  have  on 
earth." 

"  But  surely  you  have  not  sent  him  far — surely 
he  will  not  be  gone  long  ?  "  said  Morton,  unable 
to  contain  his  surprise. 

"  I  do  not  know  where  he  has  gone,"  she 
answered,  in  the  same  quiet,  hopeless  tone ; 
"  and  I  do  not  know  when  I  shall  see  him  again 
— perhaps  never." 

Annesley  said,  "  Good  Heavens  !  " — and  then 
he  stopped.  A  sudden  remembrance  of  Kath- 
arine's words  and  looks  came  to  him.  "  It  is 
Mrs.  Gordon's  secret,"  she  had  said.  "  If  she 
wishes  you  to  serve  her,  she  will  tell  it  to  you." 


Here  was  the  secret  staring  him  in  the  face; 
and  evidently  it  had  been  told  not  to  him,  but 
to  John  Warwick.  For  a  moment,  he  felt 
wounded — more  deeply  wounded  than  it  is  pos- 
sible to  describe ;  but,  almost  immediately,  cooler 
reason  and  better  feeling  triumphed. 

:  Whatever  you  have  done,  I  am  sure  you 
have  done  well,"  he  said,  in  his  kind,  loyal  voice. 
"  Whatever  is  to  be  borne,  I  am  sure  you  will 
bear  well.  This  is  no  time  for  reproaches,  but  I 
cannot  help  asking  you  why  you  forgot  that  I  am 
your  kinsman,  and  ready  to  do  any  service  for 
you." 

"  I  did  not  forget  it,"  said  she,  holding  out 
again  the  hand  he  had  relinquished.  "  Morton, 
don't  reproach  me — for  that  is  reproach.  After 
Felix,  there  is  no  one  so  near  my  heart  as  you 
are — both  for  your  own  and  your  father's  sake. 
If  I  did  not  ask  this  service  of  you,  it  was  only 
because  you  were  not  in  a  position  to  render  it. 
Circumstances  made  it  necessary  that  Felix 
should  be  taken  away — far  away,  where  even  I 
might  not  know  where  he  is — and  you  had  not 
the  requisite  time  for  this." 

"  I  would  have  taken  the  time." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that — but  I  could  not  ask  it, 
Besides,  I  went  to  John  Warwick,  as  a  lawyer, 
and  he  advised  me  as  a  lawyer,  before  he  served 
me  as  a  friend." 

"  I  could  not  have  advised  you,  perhaps  ;  but 
I  would  have  served  you  against  any  thing— or 
anybody." 

"  There  are  some  things  one  can  only  fight 
with  cunning,  not  with  force,"  said  she — adding, 
after  a  moment,  "  I  will  tell  you  every  thing  if 
you  will  remember  that  I  tell  it  only  to  you — not 
to  Lagrange,  or  to  anybody  in  Lagrange.  Yet 
that  is  a  foolish  remnant  of  the  old  pride,  for 
everybody  will  know  it  soon." 

"  Consult  your  own  feelings,  not  mine,"  said 
he.  "  If  it  is  painful  to  you  to  speak,  don't  do 
it.  I  will  serve  you  ignorantly  as  readily  as 
with  knowledge.  Don't — don't  distress  your- 
self." 

"  You  deserve  confidence  from  me,"  said  she, 
"  and  you  shall  have  it." 

Then,  as  if  it  were  a  relief — and,  indeed,  after 
a  fashion,  it  was  a  relief — she  began  and  poured 
forth  her  pitiful  story,  going  far  more  into  detail 
than  she  had  done  in  speaking  to  John  Warwick, 
and  eliciting  far  more  of  warm,  outspoken  sym- 
pathy. What  the  lawyer  felt  he  had  shown  in 
deeds,  not  words ;  what  Morton  felt  burst  forth 
in  eager  language,  though  it  would  have  been 
equally  ready  to  prove  itself  by  acts.  The  dif- 


122 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


ference  waa  less  in  the  different  natures  of  the 
two  men  than  in  their  different  ages. 

As  Mrs.  Gordon  went  on,  Morton's  interest 
grew  warmer,  until  suddenly  there  came  a  cold 
chill.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  what  the  young 
man  felt  when  she  first  spoke  of  St  John,  and 
an  instinct — a  sharp  convulsion  at  his  heart — 
told  him  that  this  St.  John  was  one  and  the 
same  with  the  "  Mr.  Johns "  whom  Katharine 
Trcsham  had  that  morning  asked  him  to  show 
out  of  the  grounds  of  Annesdnle.  Then,  the 
warning  she  had  given  him,  the  knowledge  which 
she  possessed  of  this  carefully-guarded  secret — 
he  grew  suddenly  faint  and  sick,  and  turned  so 
pale  that  Mrs.  Gordon  noticed  it. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked.  "  You 
are  thinking  of  something  besides  me." 

"  I  am  thinking  of  this  St.  John,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Don't  you  think  that  he  may  have 
come  here  accidentally — not  in  search  of  you, 
after  all  »  " 

"  Babette  thinks  so  ;  but  I  cannot  believe  it. 
However  much  he  may  pretend  otherwise,  I  am 
sure  he  came  here  in  search  of  me." 

"  But  how  did  he  know  that  you  were 
here  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  that." 

Morton  said  no  more.  He  would  have  cut 
out  his  tongue  sooner  than  mention  Katharine's 
name  in  the  matter;  and,  although  he  did  not 
know  it,  Mr.  Warwick  had  been  equally  dis- 
creet. Mrs.  Gordon  had  not  a  suspicion  that  St. 
John  was  connected  with  any  one  in  Lagrange 
besides  herself.  Different  as  the  two  men  were, 
they  had  something  in  common,  which  they 
proved  by  this  reticence.  Morton  was  right 
when  he  once  told  Felix  that  the  grand  test  of  a 
gentleman  is  the  capability  of  being  trusted ; 
and  he  might  have  added  that  it  is  not  only  the 
capability  of  being  loynl  to  a  trust  which  has 
been  solemnly  and  explicitly  given,  but  it  is  also 
to  be  found  in  that  fine  sense  of  honor  which  can 
appreciate  tacit  confidence,  and  respect  the  secret 
for  which  no  secrecy  has  been  asked. 

When  Annesley  rode  away  from  Morton 
House,  the  last  day  of  the  Old  Year  had  died  the 
death  common  to  all  things  mortal.  The  last 
gleam  of  light  had  faded  in  the  west ;  the  night 
hung  over  all  things  with  its  sombre  mantle  ;  the 
§tars  gleamed  with  an  uncertain  fitfulness  through 
a  curtain  of  misty  cloud ;  and  even  the  lights 
from  the  wayside  houses  looked,  to  the  young 
man's  fancy,  more  dull  and  red  than  cheery  and 
bright  As  he  rode  forward,  his  heart  was 
strangely  heavy,  his  mind  strangely  disturbed, 


and,  in  a  sort  of  accompaniment  to  the  thoughts 
that  tormented  him,  a  certain  verse  of  a  poem  he 
had  seen  shortly  before  kept  running  through  his 
brain.  Almost  unconsciously,  as  he  looked  at 
the  great  hosts  of  Night  that  were  marching 
steadily  forward  to  the  death-bed  of  the  Old 
Year,  he  caught  himself  repeating : 

"  He  Heth  still ;  he  doth  not  move ; 
He  will  not  see  the  dawn  of  day. 
He  hath  no  other  life  above. 
He  gave  me  a  friend  and  a  true  true-love, 
And  the  New  Year  will  take  them  away." 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

A    MORNING-CALL. 

GREAT  was  the  rejoicing  of  the  Marks  chil- 
dren when,  on  the  day  after  New-Year,  the  same 
carriage  that  had  conveyed  Miss  Tresham  awny 
drove  up  to  the  gate,  and  Miss  Tresham  de- 
scended, smiling  in  acknowledgment  of  their 
eager  welcome,  but  looking  decidedly  pale  and 
worn,  as  Mrs.  Marks  at  once  perceived. 

"  Dissipation  don't  agree  with  you,  Miss  Kath 
arine,"  she  said,  after  the  first  bustle  of  greeting 
was  over.  "  I  never  saw  you  look  so  badly.  You 
must  have  danced  all  last  night." 

"I  did,"  said  Katharine,  smiling.  "After  the 
tableaux  we  had  a  sort  of  fancy  ball — that  is,  all 
those  who  had  taken  part  in  the  tableaux  were 
in  costume — and  day  was  breaking  when  I  went 
to  bed.  I  wish  you  had  come  to  the  tableaux, 
Mrs.  Marks — they  were  so  pretty  !  " 

"  I  thought  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  re- 
gretfully. "  I  should  have  liked  to  have  gone ; 
but  it  was  a  long  drive,  and  Nelly  had  a  cough 
that  sounded  a  little  like  croup,  so  I  was  afraid 
to  leave  her." 

"But  you  might  have  sent  feara  and  Katy; 
they  would  have  enjoyed  it  so  much  ! " 

"  They,  were  crazy  to  go,  and  I  might  have 
sent  them  if  there  had  been  anybody  to  take 
them.  But  Richard  was  tired,  and  John  isn't 
here,  you  know." 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  know,"  said  Katharine, 
with  a  start.  "  Where  has  Mr.  Warwick 
gone  ?  "  , 

"  Gone  to  take  Felix  Gordon  to  school,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Marks,  sending  her  scissors  with  a 
sharp  snip  through  the  cloth  from  which  she  was 
cutting  a  jacket  for  one  of  the  boys.  "  YOB 
can't  be  more  surprised  than  I  was,  Miss  Kath' 


A   MORNING-CALL. 


123 


arine ;  for  John  started  off  without  giving  any- 
body a  word  of  warning.  It  was  a  queer  thing 
for  Mrs.  Gordon  to  send  the  child  away — so  fond 
of  him  as  they  say  she  is — and  it  was  queer  of 
John  to  take  him ;  but,  then,  dear  me !  what 
isn't  queer  in  this  world?  I  told  Richard  last 
night  that  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  every 
thing  came  right  at  last.  You  know  what  I 
mean ;  I  don't  like  to  mention  names  before  the 
children." 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean.  But  is  it 
likely,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  If  this  don't  look  as  if  it  is  likely,  I  won- 
der what  would  look  so  ?  Other  people  besides 
me  think  the  same  thing.  I  saw  Mrs.  Sloan 
yesterday,  and  she  was  telling  me  that  Mrs. 
Gordon — Katy,  don't  stand  there  drinking  in 
every  word  I  say ;  go  up-stairs  and  see  if  Miss 
Tresham's  room  is  all  ftady — that  Mrs.  Gordon 
has  been  going  to  see  John  at  his  office  of  late, 
and,  when  a  widow  does  that  way,  you  know  it 
is  apt  to  mean  something.  There  are  a  great 
many  reports  going  about;  but  I  know  how 
people  talk,  and  I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to 
them  till  this  about  Felix  came  on  me  like  a 
thunder-clap.  Then  I  couldn't  help  believing. 
I  am  sure  I  never  expected  that  matters  would 
come  to  pass  so  that  John  could  marry  Pauline 
Morton — but  this  is  a  strange  world !  " 

"  When  will  Mr.  Warwick  be  back?  "  asked 
Katharine. 

"  Indeed,  that's  more  than  I  can  tell.  He 
said  nothing  about  it ;  and,  since  I  don't  know 
where  he  went,  I  can't  even  calculate  when  he's 
likely  to  be  back.  He  left  a  note  for  you,  which 
I  was  about  to  forget.  Let  me  see — where  did 
I  put  it  ?  " 

After  considerable  reflection,  Mrs.  Marks  re- 
membered that  she  had  put  the  note  in  her 
work-box,  and  drew  it  forth  from  among  the 
spools  and  tape  which  filled  that  receptacle. 
Katharine,  who  restrained  her  impatience  as 
well  as  she  could,  took  it  and  opened  it.  This 
was  what  Mr.  Warwick  said : 

"  DEAR  Miss  TRKSHAM  :  I  find  that  I  am  un- 
expectedly obliged  to  leave  home  with  Felix  Gor- 
don. I  shall  endeavor  to  return  within  a  fort- 
night. Will  you  go  to  see  Mrs.  Gordon  and  try 
to  cheer  her?  She  is  suffering  very  much. 
"  Yours  truly, 

"  JOHN  WARWICK." 

"  Does  he  say  any  thing  about  when  he's 
likely  to  be  back  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Marks,  who  was 


watching  the  governess's  face  attentively,  and 
secretly  burning  with  curiosity  to  know  what 
her  brother  had  written  about. 

"  He  says  he  may  return  within  a  fortnight," 
answered  Katharine,  with  her  eyes  still  fastened 
on  the  note.  Then  she  held  it  out.  "  There 
it  is,"  she  added ;  "  you  can  see  for  yourself 
what  he  says.  It  is  not  much.  I  will  go  and 
take  off  my  things." 

While  Mrs.  Marks  eagerly  read  the  note, 
Katharine  left  the  room  and  went  up-stairs. 
She  found  her  chamber  carefully  arranged  for 
her.  Every  thing  looked  fresh  and  bright,  the 
fire  was  burning,  and  on  the  table  her  Christmas 
presents  were  laid  out  in  order.  It  seemed  like 
a  pleasant  coming  home,  and  gave  her  a  sense 
of  rest  and  relief  after  the  gay  dissipations  of 
Annesdale.  At  another  time  she  might  have 
thought  a  little  regretfully  of  all  that  was  going 
on  at  the  latter  place ;  of  how  Mr.  Langdon  was 
just  then  throwing  a  great  deal  of  sentimental 
expression  into  his  voice  and  eyes  as  he  talked 
to  some  young  lady  who  sat  in  the  bay-window 
where  she  had  herself  sat  yesterday ;  of  how 
Miss  Lester  was  playing  billiards  with  Mr.  Tal- 
cott ;  how  Mrs.  French  was  entertaining  a  lively 
group  with  disquisitions  on  private  theatricals ; 
and  how  the  same  people  were  loitering  in  the 
same  places  and  saying  the  same  things  as  on 
every  day  while  she  had  been  there.  The  habits 
of  society  are  much  the  same  on  a  small  or  on  a 
large  scale  all  the  world  over.  Let  a  man  drop 
out  of  his  circle  in  Paris,  and,  even  if  he  has 
been  the  brightest  star  in  that  circle,  who  misses 
him  ?  So  it  is  in  every  circle  of  every  city,  vil- 
lage, or  hamlet,  throughout  the  world.  Remain, 
and  you  are  liked  exactly  according  to  your  de- 
serts ;  go,  and,  whatever  those  deserts  may  have 
been,  you  are  forgotten  as  speedily  and  as  natur- 
ally as  the  events  of  yesterday  yield  in  interest 
to  the  events  of  to-day.  Until  a  cloud  came 
over  her  brightness,  Katharine  had  achieved 
quite  a  social  success  at  Aunesdale ;  but  she 
had  sufficient  worldly  experience  to  know  that 
already  she  had  sunk  beneath  the  horizon,  that 
others  had  taken  her  place,  and  that  to-morrow 
people  would  even  cease  to  say,  "  Miss  Tresham 
did  this,"  or  "  Miss  Tresham  did  not  do  that." 
At  a  different  moment  such  a  reflection  might 
have  cost  her  a  pang ;  but  now  she  was  too  full 
of  other  subjects.  Instead  of  thinking  of  the 
farewells  of  Messrs.  Langdon  and  Talcott,  she 
thought  of  Mr.  Warwick  nnd  the  note  he  had 
left  behind.  "What  did  he  mean?  "  she  asked 
herself,  and,  receiving  no  satisfactory  reply,  wad 


124 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


still  asking,  when  the  door  opened  and   Katy 
rushed  in. 

"  Miss  Tresham,  there's  a  gentleman  down- 
stairs, and  mamma  says  will  you  please  come 
down,  he  wants  to  see  you." 

Poor  Katharine!  She  had  expected  this, 
but  not  quite  so  soon — not  quite  so  unexpect- 
edly. 

"Katy,"  she  said,  with  a  start,  "who  is  it? 
What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  He's  a  strange  gentleman,"  answered  Katy, 
decidedly.     "  I  don't  know  what  his  name  is,  and 
mamma  didn't  tell  me.      He  came   here  once 
before,  though." 
"  To  see  me  ?  " 

"  Yes'm,  while  you  was  away." 
"  Amen,"  said  Katharine,  under  her  breath. 
She  mechanically  took  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl, 
smoothed  her  hair,  and  went  down-stairs. 

In  the  passage  she  met  Mrs.  Marks,  evidently 
much  fluttered  and  excited. 

41 A  gentleman  in  the  dining-room  to  see  you, 
Miss  Katharine,"  she  said.  "  I  asked  him  there 
because  there  was  no  fire  in  the  parlor.  You 
needn't  be  uneasy  on  my  account,"  she  added, 
with  a  good-natured  smile,  "  I  am  going  into  the 
kitchen  anyhow.  They  are  trying  out  lard  again 
to-day,  and  I  have  to  see  about  it.  He's  very 
good-looking,"  she  said,  with  a  significant  nod, 
as  she  went  out  of  the  back-door. 

Katharine  did  not  even  smile.  The  conclu- 
sion to  which  Mrs.  Marks  had  leaped  was  absurd 
'  enough ;  but  she  was  not  in  the  humor  for  the 
absurdity  to  strike  her  in  a  humorous  light.  On 
the  contrary,  she  felt  annoyed  when  there  was  no 
reasonable  ground  for  annoyance.  These  sig- 
nificant looks  and  smiles  jarred  on  her. 

"  What  fools  people  are  ! "  she  thought,  with 
an  Impatience  very  unusual  to  her,  as  she  went 
on  and  opened  the  dining-room  door. 

St.  John  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
fire,  looking  moodily  down  at.  the  hearth-rug 
when  she  entered.  She  saw  at  once  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  with  him,  and,  unfortunately, 
was  in  no  doubt  concerning  the  nature  of  that 
something.  He  looked  up  when  she  entered, 
but  did  not  move  forward. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  have  you  heard  the  news? 
Do  you  know  that  she  has  sent  off  the  child,  and 
given  me  the  slip  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  she  answered,  sitting  down 
hi  the  first  chair  she  came  to.  "  But  what  can  I 
do  ?  Why  do  you  come  and  annoy  me  ?  " 

"  That  is  always  the  cry  ! — always,  why  do  I 
come  and  annoy  you !  I  come  because  I  chooac 


to  do  so,"  said  he,  angrily ;  "  and  because  you 
may  be  able  to  help  me  in  this  business." 
"  In  what  business  ?" 

"  In  finding  out  where  Felix  has  been  taken." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  such  talk  as  this,"  said 

she,  coldly.     "  Do  you  suppose  I  know  any  thing 

about  it  ? — or,  if  I  did,  do  you  suppose  I  would 

tell  you  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  can  find  out,  if  you  choose, 
for  the  man  who  took  him  away  lives,  I  am  told, 
in  this  very  house — and,  I  suppose  that,  if  you 
don't  choose,  you  may  repent  it,"  answered  he 
"  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  nonsense,  Katharine. 
This  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  me,  and  T 
will  not  be  thwarted.  You  can  find  out  where 
the  child  has  been  taken,  and  you  shall  do  so." 

"  I  might  show  you  whether  or  not  I  would, 
if  there  were  any  question  of  finding  out,"  she 
answered.  "  But  there*  is  not.  Even  his  own 
sister  does  not  know  where  Mr.  Warwick  has 
gone." 

"  She  may  say  she  does  not — " 
"  She  says  the  truth.     Don't  think  that  every 
body  tells  falsehoods,  St.  John." 

"  Everybody  tells  them  when  it  suits  his  con- 
venience," said  St.  John,  coolly.     "  Do  you  sup 
pose  I  don't  know  the  world  ?  " 
"  Your  own  world — perhaps  so." 
"  The  world  is  the  same  everywhere.     If  this 
woman  does  not  know,  her  husband  does." 
"  No— he  does  not." 

"  Then  wait  until  the  man  comes  back,  and 
get  the  secret  from  him.  What's  the  good  of 
being  a  woman,  and  a  pretty  one,"  he  added, 
with  a  sneer,  "  if  you  can't  do  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  You  don't  know  any  thing  about  Mr.  War- 
wick," she  cried,  indignantly.  "  If  you  did,  you 
would  know  that  no  woman  in  the  world  could 
make  him  tell  a  thing  that  he  wished  to  keep 
secret.  And  I  would  do  any  thing  sooner  than 
ask  it  of  him.  St.  John,  you  are  cruel !" 

"  You  are  a  fool !"  retorted  St.  John,  short- 
ly. "  I  think  there  must  be  something  between 
you  and  this  lawyer,"  he  went  on,  looking  keenly 
at  her.  "  If  that  is  the  case — " 

"  I  won't  hear  another  word  ! "  cried  Kath- 
arine, losing  temper,  and  somewhat  dismaying 
him  by  the  angry  light  that  came  into  her  eyes. 
"  You  are  insulting  me — and  I  will  not  listen  to 
you.     If  I  knew  where  Felix  Gordon  was  this 
minute,  I  would  die  sooner  than  tell  you  !"  she 
said,  passionately.     "  You  may  be  sure  of  that." 
"  I  think  I  could  make  you  sorry  for  it." 
"  I  have  no  doubt  you  could — but  I  would 
not  do  it ! " 


A  MORNING-CALL. 


125 


There  was  silence  in  the  room  after  this. 
St.  John  had  not  expected  such  a  defiance,  and 
it  quite  astonished  him.  He  drummed  on  his 
hat  for  some  time,  and  knitted  his  brows,  as 
he  scowled  at  the  girl,  who  sat  before  him  look- 
ing pale  and  resolute. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  had  not  expected  this," 
said  he,  at  last.  "  A  charmingly  affectionate  per- 
son you  are,  Katharine,  I  must  say !  You'd  die 
before  you  would  obtain  for  me  a  certain  item 
of  information  about  a  person  who  cannot  con- 
cern you  in  the  least !  Will  you  tell  me  what  is 
the  meaning  of  this  sudden  interest  in  Felix  Gor- 
don ?  " 

"  I  have  no  interest.  But  I  will  not  play  the 
spy  at  your  bidding.  I  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude 
to  this  place,  and  these  people ;  and  I  do  not 
choose  to  repay  it  in  such  a  form." 

"  A  debt  of  gratitude  for  allowing  you  to 
come  and  slave  among  them  ?  Humph !  your 
ideas  of  a  cause  for  gratitude  are  singular,  to 
say  the  least.  You  do  owe  somebody  among 
them  a  certain  sort  of  gratitude,  though,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  peculiar  smile.  "  Pray,  what 
do  you  consider  the  most  unfortunate  thing 
that  has  befallen  you  lately  ?  " 

"  Your  coming,"  she  answered,  unhesitating- 

iy. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  he,  coolly.  "  "Well,  you 
asked  me,  when  we  first  met,  how  I  discovered 
your  place  of  residence.  I  did  not  answer  the 
question  then,  because  it  was  irrelevant.  It  is 
relevant  now,  and  I  shall  answer  it  with  pleasure. 
First,  however,  do  you  know  any  one  in  a  place 
called  Mobile  ? " 

"  No  one." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  there  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Well,  your  address  was  forwarded  to  me — 
but  stop  !  I  will  tell  the  story  in  order.  There 
is  nothing  like  method.  Read  that." 

He  took  out  a  pocket-book,  opened  it,  and 
drew  forth  a  slip  of  paper  which  he  put  into  her 
hand.  It  was  the  Times  advertisement  that  Mrs. 
Annesley  had  shown  to  Adela  French. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  who  inserted  that  ?  "  he 
asked,  watching  her  face,  as  she  read  it. 

Her  eyes  dilated  with  astonishment,  her  face 
paled  until  the  very  lips  were  white,  and  he  was 
forced  to  repeat  his  question,  before  she  looked 
up  and  answered. 

"  Idea  ! — no.  How  should  I  have  ?  I  did  not 
think  there  was  any  one  in  the  world  who  would 
have  done  such  a  thing." 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  some  one  here  ?  " 


"  It  must  have  been.  I  have  never  been 
anywhere  else  in  America,  and  no  one  who  waa 
not  of  Lagrange  could  have  known  any  thing 
about  the  West  Indies  or  Cumberland." 

"  Those  allusions  prove  that  it  is  some  one 
who  knows  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  some  one  who  knows  me." 

"  See  if  these  will  enable  you  to  tell  who  it 
is." 

Forth  from  the  pocket-book  came  two  let- 
ters, and  were  placed  in  Katharine's  hand.  She 
took  them,  as  she  had  taken  the  advertisement, 
and  glanced  over  them  with  compressed  lips. 
When  she  finished,  she  laid  them  down  on  the 
table  beside  her,  and  looked  at  St.  John. 

"  I  do  not  know  who  has  written  these,"  she 
said.  "  God  forgive  whoever  it  was — God  grant 
that  they  may  never  have  to  endure  such  suffer- 
ing as  they  have  brought  on  me  !  " 

"  That  is  cant,"  said  he.  "  Of  course,  you 
don't  forgive  them ;  and,  of  course,  you  can 
tell  who  the  writer  was.  What,  in  a  small  cir- 
cle like  this,  not  be  able  to  place  your  finger  at 
once  upon  the  person !  Tell  me  whom  you 
know,  and  I  will  tell  you  who  did  it." 

"  I  do  not  know  anybody  who  would  have 
done  it." 

"  That  only  proves  your  ignorance  of  the 
world.  Do  you  suspect  me  of  forging  those  let- 
ters ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  they  were  certainly  written  by  some- 
body who  knows  you,  and  whom  you  know. 
Common-sense  might  show  you  this.  Toll  me 
whom  you  least  suapect,  and  I  will  tell  you  who 
did  it." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you.  I — St.  John,  let  me 
alone  ! "  she  cried,  suddenly,  but  with  an  accent 
of  almost  heart-rending  pathos.  "  I  don't  un- 
derstand any  thing  !  I  am  heart-sick  and  weary. 
Don't — don't  torment  me  ! " 

"  You  know  who  wrote  those  letters,"  said 
St.  John,  watching  her  with  unchanging  scrutiny. 
"  If  you  don't  choose  to  tell  me,  well  and  good— 
I  can  find  out  for  myself.  You  will  be  sorry  for 
this  want  of  confidence  though,  Katharine.  I 
am  your  best  friend." 

"  May  God  give  me  my  worst,  then ! "  cried  the 
girl,  who  was  driven  beyond  all  power  of  self-con- 
trol. 

"  I  have  heard  some  rumors  about  you,"  pur- 
sued the  immovable  St.  John.  "  It  is  quite  use- 
less to  try  to  deceive  me — I  should  think  you 
would  have  discovered  that  long  before  this  time. 
Who  was  the  gentleman  that  was  kind  enough  to 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


show  me  out  of  the  grounds  of  the  house  where 
you  were  staying  the  other  day  ?  " 

"  I  am  going,"  said  Katharine,  rising  and 
walking  toward  the  door.  "If  you  have  only 
come  to  torment  me  as  you  used  to  do,  I  will 
not  stay  to  afford  you  amusement  I  am  sick 
and  weary — I  am  going." 

"  I  shall  remain  here  until  you  come  back, 
then." 

"St  John,"  cried  she,  facing  round  upon 
him,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  You  prom- 
ised me  that,  after  I  gave  you  some  money,  you 
would  go ;  and  you  are  here  yet,  to  make  life  a 
burden  to  me." 

"  I  made  no  promises,"  said  St.  John,  "  and 
I  will  make  none.  But  I  tell  you  that  I  will 
come  here  every  day  until  you  find  out — as  you 
can,  if  you  choose — where  that  boy  has  been 
taken  to.  I  have  written  to  Gordon,  and  he 
will  come,  expecting  to  find  the  child  here.  If 
he  is  not  here — if  I  cannot  put  my  hand  upon 
him — it  will  be  worse  than  useless  to  have  sum- 
moned him." 

"  Write  and  tell  him  so." 

"  No  letter  would  reach  him  now." 

Katharine  sank  back  into  her  chair,  and 
gazed  out  of  the  window  at  the  desolate  garden 
which  had  been  so  fair  and  smiling  on  that  No- 
Tember  evening  when  she  first  saw  Mrs.  Gor- 
don's face.  She  could  have  cried  Out  upon  the 
cruelty  of  all  this,  but  where  was  the  use  ?  All 
the  tears  of  Niobe  could  not  have  moved  the 
man  before  her  one  hair's-breadth  from  his  pur- 
pose. The  nether  millstone  is  not  half  so  hard 
as  the  selfish  resolution  of  a  selfish  nature. 
While  she  was  still  sitting  in  hopeless  silence, 
and  St.  John  was  still  standing  on  the  hearth- 
rug waiting  her  reply,  there  came  a  stir  in  the 
passage  outside,  a  movement  of  feet,  a  sound  of 
Toices,  Miss  Tresham's  name  audibly  pronounced, 
and,  before  Katharine  could  move  forward,  the 
door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Gordon  stood  on  the 
threshold  ! 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

OLD   FOE8. 

IT  had  been  a  relief  to  Mrs.  Gordon  to  tell 
her  story  to  Annesley,  and  the  exhaustion  con- 
sequent upon  long  and  painful  emotion  had  made 
her  sleep  heavily  during  that  night — the  first 
night  after  Felix  had  been  parted  from  her.  But 
•Lo  can  paint  the  waking — the  next  day — the 


long  watches  of  the  next  night  ?  As  hour  after 
hour  rolled  by,  she  endured  them  in  much  the 
same  passive  fashion  as  that  which  had  so  much 
surprised  Morton.  But,  on  the  third  day,  thia 
endurance  began  to  give  way  to  restlessness. 
Babette,  who  went  in  and  out  on  various  pre- 
texts, and  watched  her  anxiously,  immediately 
perceived  this.  She  had  shortly  before  been  to 
town  on  an  errand,  and  she  now  bethought  her- 
self of  an  expedient  to  interest  her  mistress. 

"  Madame  is  not  well,"  she  said,  planting  her- 
self on  the  hearth-rug,  with  an  air  of  determina- 
tion. "  Madame  is  lonely  —  she  should  have 
company.  As  I  was  coming  home,  I  met  made- 
moiselle— the  young  lady  who  comes  here  with 
the  children.  Why  should  not  madame  send 
for  her  ?  She  would  cheer  her  up." 

"Nobody  can  cheer  me  up,  Babette,"  said 
Mrs.  Gordon,  smiling  faintly.  "  I  am  used  to 
trouble,  and  I  can  bear  it ;  but,  as  for  cheer — 
that  is  a  different  matter.  Don't  talk  of  it." 

"  Madame  will  be  ill,  if  she  is  not  cheered," 
said  Babette,  obstinately.  "  If  madame  would 
only  send  for  the  young  lady — " 

"  Is  it  Miss  Tresham  you  are  talking  about  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Gordon,  languidly.  "  Did  you  say 
that  you  met  her  going  into  town  ?  " 

"A  short  time  ago,  madame." 

"  Well,  you  may  send  or  stay — no,  I  will  go 
myself.  Order  the  carriage." 

"  Madame ! " 

"  The  carriage,"  repeated  Mrs.  Gordon,  impa- 
tiently.  "  Don't  you  see  that  I  must  get  out  of 
this  house  or  go  crazy  ?  I  will  go  into  Tallaho- 
ma,  and  bring  Miss  Tresham  back  to  stay  with 
me.  You  are  right.  She  will  do  me  good — if 
anybody  can." 

"  But  Monsieur  St.  Jean ! "  cried  Babette,  who 
was  aghast.  "  If  madame  goes  into  town,  she 
may  meet  him." 

"  He  cannot  harm  me,"  said  madame,  haugh- 
tily, for  she  could  aiford  to  be  brave  now  that 
Felix  was  safely  out  of  reach.  "  Go  and  order 
the  carriage." 

Babette  went  at  once ;  but,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  the  horses  were  out  on  the  plantation,  and 
had  to  be  sent  for,  it  was  some  time  before  the 
carriage  came  round.  Mrs.  Gordon's  fit  of  rest- 
lessness had  by  that  time  partly  subsided,  and 
she  was  half  inclined  to  give  up  her  intention,  and 
merely  send  Babette  with  a  note  to  bring  Katha- 
rine. But  Babette  was  of  the  opinion  that  it 
would  be  beneficial  for  madame  to  go  herself,  that 
a  breath  of  the  outer  air  would  revive  her,  and 
,  the  sight  of  the  outer  world  be  good  for  lier.  In 


OLD   FOEft. 


127 


cases  where  the  min.1  fra^  too  long  preyed  on  it- 
self, there  is,  indeed,  no  better  prescription  than 
this — simple  as  it  seems.  He  must  be  very  far 
gone  in  morbid  gloom  whom  God's  air,  and  God's 
sunshine,  and  the  bright,  rejoicing  beauty  of 
God's  fair  earth,  cannot  comfort,  cannot  help, 
cannot  draw  a  little  out  of  himself.  Beguiled  by 
the  persuasions  of  her  faithful  attendant,  Mrs. 
Gordon  at  last  consented  to  go.  The  French- 
woman put  her  into  the  carriage,  and  saw  her 
drive  off,  with  great  self-congratulation.  It  is 
possible  that  this  self-congratulation  might  have 
been  slightly  changed  if  she  had  only  known  who 
it  was  that  her  mistress  had  gone  to  meet. 

On  her  way  to  Tallahoma,  Mrs.  Gordon  was  a 
little  diverted  from  the  subject  of  her  own  trou- 
bles, by  thinking  of  the  pleasure  of  bringing 
Katharine  back  to  Morton  House  with  her.  She 
felt  certain  that  Mrs.  Marks  would  not  object,  for 
Mr.  Warwick's  last  wordsiiad  advised  something 
like  this,  and  she  thought  it  probable  that  he 
might  have  spoken  to  his  sister  on  the  subject. 
She  liked  the  girl — liked  her  bright  face,  her 
frank  bearing,  her  sunny  smile — and  she  felt 
that  it  would  be  a  great  relief  to  see  her  moving 
about  Morton  House,  and  lighting  up  the  gloom 
with  her  graceful  youth,  instead  of  poor  Babette's 
long  face  and  ready  tears.  As  she  was  drawing 
this  half-unconscious  picture,  Katharine  was  go- 
ing down  to  meet  St.  John,  with  a  very  pale  face, 
and  a  very  heavy  heart,  making  quite  a  contrast 
to  the  girl  whom  Mrs.  Gordon  had  seen  last — 
the  girl  who  even  then  was  pictured  in  Mrs.  Gor- 
don's mind. 

When  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  Marks 
house,  two  or  three  children  were  playing  in  the 
yard.  They  all  stopped,  and  stared  open-mouthed, 
as  Mrs.  Gordon  descended.  When  it  was  evi- 
dent that  she  intended  to  enter  the  gate,  they 
immediately  took  flight,  and  ran  full  tilt  to  the 
kitchen — rushing  headlong  through  the  door,  and 
very  nearly  tumbling  into  a  pot  of  boiling  lard. 

"  Mamma,  here's  a  carriage,  and  a  lady  com- 
ing in  ! "  cried  Katy,  who  was  first. 

"  Mamma,  it's  a  lady  in  black — I  think  it's 
Felix's  mother,"  panted  Sara,  who  was  second. 

"  Mamma — lady  tummin,"  said  Nelly,  who 
was  last. 

"  A  lady  in  black ! — Felix's  mother !  Good 
gracious ! "  cried  Mrs.  Mark's.  "  Run,  Letty,  and 
ask  her  in — in  the  parlor,  mind.  I'll  be  there 
in  a  minute.  Get  away,  children,  and  let  me  take 
off  this  apron.  Good  gracious ! — who  was  to 
think—" 

While  Mrs.  Marks  was  hastily  untying  her 


apron,  and  Letty  was  running  lull  speed  to  the 
house,  Mrs.  Gordon  walked  up  to  the  front  door, 
and  was  about  to  knock,  when  Jack  came  rush- 
ing down-stairs.  He  had  been  to  the  school- 
room to  get  some  string  for  his  kite,  and  was 
on  his  way  back  to  the  place  where  he  had  left 
that  valuable  article  of  property,  when  he  was 
thus  unexpectedly  brought  face  to  face  with  a 
strange  lady.  Fortunately,  he  was  not  at  all 
troubled  with  diffidence;  so  he  went  forward, 
and,  when  Mrs.  Gordon  asked  if  Miss  Tresham 
was  at  home,  at  once  responded  in  the  prompt- 
est manner  imaginable : 

"  Yes'm,  Miss  Tresham's  at  home — she  got 
home  a  little  while  ago.  She's  in  the  dining- 
room,  I  b'lieve." 

"  Can  I  see  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes'm — walk  in.     This  way,  please." 

His  hand  was  on  the  lock  of  the  dining- 
room  door,  when,  enter  Letty  on  the  scene — 
panting  and  almost  breathless. 

"  Not  that  way,  Mass  Jack,"  cried  she,  eager- 
ly. "  Ask  the  lady  in  the  parlor.  This  way, 
ma'am." 

She  hurried  forward  to  the  parlor-door,  and 
Mrs.  Gordon  half  turned  to  follow  her,  when 
Jack,  who  was  always  at  feud  with  Letty,  asserted 
his  superior  knowledge. 

"  The  lady  wants  to  see  Miss  Tresham,"  said 
he,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  and  Miss  Tresham  ain't  in 
the  parlor,  she's  in  here.  There  she  is,  now,"  he 
added,  triumphantly,  as  he  threw  open  the  door, 
and  revealed  Katharine,  who  was  sitting  almost 
immediately  in  front  of  it. 

Mrs.  Gordon  saw  her,  and  at  once  advanced 
into  the  room.  She  did  not  see  St.  John,  who 
was  out  of  her  range  of  vision,  so  she  began 
speaking,  as  she  crossed  the  floor. 

"  Miss  Tresham,  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me — " 

Here  she  stopped  suddenly.  Something  in 
Katharine's  face  startled  her,  and  made  her  look 
round.  Then  she  saw  her  companion. 

To  describe  the  change  that  passed  over  her 
would  be  impossible.  If  she  had  expected  to  see 
him,  if  she  had  thought  there  was  even  the  least 
reason  to  fear  a  meeting  with  him,  she  would 
have  prepared  for  it — being  a  proud  woman,  and 
one  who  would  suffer  any  thing  sooner  than  let 
an  enemy  read  her  weakness.  But,  as  it  was,  she 
had  no  time  for  preparation.  When  she  turned 
and  saw  that  so  well-remembered,  that  so  bitter- 
ly-hated face,  it  was  as  if  a  sudden,  brutal  blow 
had  been  dealt  to  her.  She  gave  a  sharp  cry, 
and  covered  her  own  face  with  her  hands. 

The  door  was  still  open,  and  Jack  and  Letty 


128 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


were  holding  an  altercation  in  the  passage,  which 
Blled  up,  strangely  enough,  tbe  interval  that  fol- 
lowed. 

"Never  mind,  Mass  Jack — I'll  tell  mistis. 
Puttin'  yourself  forrard  when  she  told  me  to  ask 
tbe  lady  in  the  parlor ! " 

"  You  mind  your  own  business — I'll  tell  mam- 
ma myself.  The  lady  asked  for  Miss  Tresham, 
and  I  wasn't  a-going  to  show  her  in  the  parlor. 
There  ain't  any  fire  in  there,  either." 

This  was  what  came  into  the  room,  while 
Mrs.  Gordon  clasped  her  hands  over  her  face,  St. 
John  stood  undecided  what  to  do  or  say,  and 
Katharine  felt  a  despair  which  bordered  closely 
upon  recklessness.  She  could  have  laughed,  or 
she  could  have  cried ;  but,  instead  of  doing 
either  of  the  two,  she  heard,  with  the  odd  dou- 
ble consciousness  that  came  to  her  in  moments 
of  excitement,  the  recrimination  in  the  passage, 
and  even  caught  the  angry  whisk  of  Letty's  dress 
as  she  departed. 

Nevertheless,  Katharine  was  the  first  who 
recovered  self-possession.  Seeing  that  St.  John 
was  about  to  speak,  she  silenced  him  by  a 
glance,  and  walked  up  to  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"  Will  you  let  me  take  you  into  the  other 
room  ?  "  she  said,  gently.  "  I  am  very  sorry 
for — for  this." 

The  sound  of  her  voice  seemed  at  once  to 
restore  Mrs.  Gordon  to  herself.  She  looked  up 
with  a  start.  Then  her  whole  face  changed — 
petrified,  as  it  were — and  she  drew  back,  so  that 
not  even  her  dress  might  touch  the  girl — drew 
back  as  she  might  have  drawn  back  from  a  scor- 
pion. 

"  So  it  was  you  ! "  she  said.  And  her  voice 
was  so  cold  and  hard,  so  changed  in  timbre,  that 
it  made  Katharine  shrink. 

"  What  was  me  ?  "  she  asked,  as  the  other 
paused  and  said  no  more.  "  I  do  not  under- 
stand. What  was  me  ?  " 

"  It  was  you  who  gave  the  clew  to  my  place 
of  refuge,"  answered  Mrs.  Gordon,  with  the  same 
repellent  coldness  of  voice  and  manner.  "  I 
see  it  all  now.  I  was  foolish  enough  to  like  you 
— to  welcome  you  into  my  house — to  encournge 
my  cousin  in  his  love  for  you — and  you  gave  me 
this  return  !  Thank  you,  Miss  Tresham — thank 
you  for  proving  to  me  once  more  that  the  wisest 
person  in  the  world  is  the  person  who  neither 
gives  nor  hopes  to  receive  regard." 

"St.  John,"  said  Katharine,  turning  round, 
"  do  you  hear  this  ?  Do  you  stand  by  and  say 
not  one  word  to  exonerate  me  from  such  an  ac- 
euiation  ?  " 


"What  can  I  say?"  asked  St.  John,  care- 
lessly. "  Mrs.  Gordon  ought  to  know  that  she 
is  talking  nonsense — that,  if  you  had  told  me  a 
dozen  times  over  where  she  was,  she  had  no  claim 
upon  you  to  make  such  an  act  any  thing  but 
natural. — But  Miss  Tresham  did  not  tell  me,"  he 
added,  turning  to  Mrs.  Gordon.  "  I  came  here 
in  total  ignorance  of  your  having  chosen  this 
as  a  place  of  residence.  After  I  discovered  the 
fact,  it  was  my  duty  to  inform  your  husband ;  and 
that  duty  I  fulfilled." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon, 
addressing  Katharine  with  her  utmost  stateli- 
ness  of  tone  and  bearing.  "  I  had  no  right  to 
speak  to  you  as  I  did  a  moment  ago.  I  am  not 
by  nature  a  patient  woman,  and  trouble  has 
tried  me  severely.  I  hope  you  will  let  this 
plead  my  excuse.  As  Mr.  St.  John  said,  it  is 
certainly  true  that  I  have  no  claim  upon  you 
— no  right  to  hope  that  you  would  respect  my 
unfortunate  position  sufficiently  to  refrain  from 
betraying  me  to— to — " 

She  stopped,  gasped  slightly,  as  if  threatened 
with  suffocation,  and  her  hand  went  up  to  her 
throat.  Before  Katharine  could  speak,  however, 
she  went  on : 

"  I  ought  to  apologize  for  this  intrusion. 
When  I  entered  the  room,  I  thought  you  were 
alone.  I  came  to  see  you,  to  ask  you  to  return 
to  Morton  House  with  me,  to  beg  you  to  cheer 
the  solitude  which  Felix's  absence  has  made  so 
dreary.  After  this  meeting,  I  shall  not  press  that 
request.  I  shall  only  bid  you  good-morning." 

She  bowed  slightly,  drew  her  veil  over  her 
face,  and  turned  to  leave  the  room — a  "  grand 
lady,"  unmistakably,  and,  so  far,  commanding 
much  the  best  of  the  situation. 

But  at  this  point  Katharine  spoke,  her  clear, 
quiet  tones  seizing  Mrs.  Gordon's  attention,  and, 
almost  perforce,  arresting  Mrs.  Gordon's  steps. 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  madam,  I  have  a  few 
words  to  say  in  my  defence.  It  seems  that  you 
disbelieve  Mr.  St.  John's  assertion.  Will  you 
disbelieve  mine  when  I  tell  you  that  I  did  not 
bring  him  here,  and  that  I  knew  nothing  of  his 
acquaintance  with  you  until  he  himself  informed 
me  of  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Gordon  turned,  and  raised  her  veil 
again.  The  two  women  faced  each  other  for  a 
minute  before  tfce  elder  spoke — spoke  with  a 
certain  quiet  contempt  in  her  voice. 

"  I  confess  that  your  question  seems  to  me 
unnecessary,  Miss  Tresham.  Having  granted 
your  right  to  inform  Mr.  St.  John  of  my  place 
of  abode,  I  can  see  no  reason  for  uselessly  pro 


)LD   FOES. 


129 


>onging  this  discussion.  Why  should  it  natter 
to  you  whether  or  not  I  believe  you  to  have 
done  so  ?  " 

Katharine  flushed  at  the  tone ;  but  she  con- 
trolled herself,  and  held  to  her  point  with  steady 
dignity. 

''  Unnecessary  or  not,  will  you  be  kind  enough 
to  answer  my  question  ?  " 

"  If  you  force  me  to  speak,  I  must  answer, 
then,  that  I  do  believe  it." 

"  In  the  face  of  my  assertion  to  the  con- 
trary ?  " 

"  In  the  face  of  any  assertion  given  by  any 
friend  of  Mr.  St.  John's." 

Hot  words  leaped  to  Katharine's  lips ;  but 
she  held  them  back.  Even  at  this  moment  she 
had  sufficient  strength  of  will  to  restrain  herself 
— to  remember  that  he  who  loses  temper  loses 
many  things  besides,  and  that  angry  rejoinder 
never  yet  helped  a  cause.  She  had  a  hard  fight 
for  self-control ;  but  she  fought  it  bravely,  and 
after  a  minute  she  was  able  to  command  her  voice 
sufficiently  to  reply. 

"  I  am  your  debtor,  Mrs.  Gordon,  for  the  first 
direct  insult  that  was  ever  offered  to  me  in  my 
life.  I  asked  your  attention  before  as  a  cour- 
tesy ;  I  demand  it  now  as  a  right.  You  have 
seen  fit  to  charge  me  with  falsehood  with  regard 
to  a  matter  in  which,  according  to  your  own  ad- 
mission, I  should  have  no  reason  to  deny  the 
truth.  I  will  now  prove  to  you  that  you  have 
done  so  without  a  shadow  of  just  cause." 

She  walked  across  the  floor,  and  took  the 
Times  advertisement  from  the  table  where  she 
had  laid  it. 

"  Will  you  read  this  ?  "  she  said,  coming  back 
and  offering  it  to  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"I  cannot  imagine  — "  began  the  latter, 
haughtily. 

"  Read  it,"  said  Katharine,  interrupting  her 
with  grave  resolution. 

So  constrained,  Mrs.  Gordon  took  the  slip  of 
paper  and  read : 

"If  the  friends  or  relations  of  Katharine 
Tresham,  formerly  of  the  British  West  Indies, 
and  lately  of  Cumberland,  England,  are  desirous 
of  knowing  her  present  whereabouts  and  address, 
they  can  obtain  this  information  by  addressing 
R.  G.,  Box  1,084,  Mobile,  Alabama." 

Having  read  it,  she  looked  up. 
"  I  confess  that  I  do  not  understand  this," 
she  said. 

"Perhaps  these  will  enable  you  to  do  so," 


answered  Katharine,  offering  the  letters  in 
turn. 

The  first  one  which  Mrs.  Gordon  opened — the 
one  which  chanced  to  be  the  last,  and  in  which 
the  writer  gave  Miss  Tresham's  address,  and 
asked  information  concerning  her  for  "  person- 
al  and  family "  reasons — startled  her  no  little. 
Her  eyes  had  scarcely  fallen  on  the  writing  be- 
fore she  changed  color.  As  she  read  on,  her 
face  assumed  an  expression  which  puzzled  Kath- 
arine. It  did  not  puzzle  St.  John,  however. 
Still  master  of  himself,  and  quietly  biding  his 
time,  he  coolly  watched  Mrs.  Gordon,  and  coolly 
arrived  at  a  conclusion. 

"  She  either  knows  or  strongly  suspects  who 
is  the  writer,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  shall  re- 
member that." 

After  Mrs.  Gordon  finished  reading  the  letter, 
she  stood  for  some  time  with  it  in  her  hand, 
apparently  deep  in  thought.  Then  she  roused 
herself,  and  opened  the  other.  She  merely 
glanced  over  this,  folded  it  up,  and  turned  to 
Katharine. 

"  Miss  Tresham,"  she  said,  with  formal  courte- 
sy, "  I  apologize.  I  see  that  you  were  not  the 
person  who  brought  Mr.  St.  John  to  Lagrange, 
and  I  retract  my  assertion  to  that  effect.  Are 
you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  I  am  satisfied,  madam,"  answered  Katha- 
rine, as  coldly  as  herself. 

"  Will  you  allow  me,  then,  to  inquire  if  you 
have  any  idea  who  inserted  this  advertisement 
and  wrote  these  letters  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  the  least  idea." 

Here  St.  John  made  a  step  forward,  and  was 
about  to  speak,  when  Mrs.  Marks  appeared  at  the 
still  open  door,  in  her  best  company  dress  and 
with  her  best  company  smile. 

"  I  heard  that  Mrs.  Gordon  was  here,"  said 
she,  advancing  into  the  room,  "and  I  could 
not  help  coming  to — "  Here  the  good  woman 
stopped,  awed,  amazed,  by  the  face  that  looked 
at  her,  overpowered  by  a  sudden  rush  of  feeling 
which  swept  away  all  thought  of  conventional 
greeting  or  conventional  compliments.  "  0  Miss 
Pauline  !  It  can't  be  Miss  Pauline  !  "  she  cried, 
with  an  almost  pitiful  astonishment  in  her  voice. 
"  I — I — 0  Mrs.  Gordon  !  excuse  me,  but  such  a 
change — " 

"  You,  at  least,  are  not  changed,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon,  extending  her  hand.  "  The  same  Bessie 
Warwick  that  I  knew  once — the  same  Bessie 
Warwick,  with  the  same  honest  face.  Will  you 
take  me  somewhere — anywhere — so  that  I  can 
speak  to  you  alone  ?  "  she  went  on,  much  to  Mrs 


130 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


Marks'g  surprise.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you ;  for 
I  have  something  that  I  should  like  to  say  to 
you." 

«I — certainly — if  you  don't  object,  I  will 
take  you  to  my  own  room,"  said  Mrs.  Marks, 
.coking  in  bewildered  surprise  from  Katharine 
to  St.  John,  and  from  St.  John  to  Mrs.  Gordon. 
"  I  told  Lelty  to  make  a  fire  in  the  parlor;  but  I 
don't  expect  it  is  burning  yet,  and  I  couldn't  ask 
you  to  go  into  the  cold.  My  room  is  in  great 
confusion,  for  the  children  make  such  a  litter  ; 
but  if  you  wouldn't  mind — " 

"  Anywhere,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  faintly.  Al- 
ready her  excitement  was  ebbing,  her  strength 
was  failing,  and  the  room  was  growing  black  be- 
fore her  eyes.  "  I  am  ready,"  she  added. 

She  took  Mrs.  Marks's  arm  as  a  support,  and 
turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  before  she  had 
made  three  steps,  St.  John  stood  before  her — 
barring  the  only  mode  of  egress. 

"  It  is  quite  useless  for  you  to  think  that  you 
can  carry  off  matters  in  this  way  with  me,  Mrs. 
Gordon,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  contemptuous 
amusement.  "  I  understand,  from  various  ru- 
mors, that  you  have  sent  Felix  away,  and  that 
you  intend  to  conceal  his  place  of  residence,  as 
you  have  already  concealed  your  own,  from  his 
father.  Individually,  I  have  no  right  to  inter- 
fere with  your  plans ;  but  I  think  it  well  to  in- 
form you  that  your  husband" — she  shrank  at  the 
word — "  will  be  here  in  a  short  time,  and  that  he 
will  use  every  means  to  discover  the  child,  and  to 
punish,  with  the  utmost  rigor  of  the  law,  those 
who  have  aided  you  in  concealing  him." 

"  Oh ! "  cried  poor  Mrs.  Marks,  and  turned  a 
glance  on  Mrs.  Gordon,  as  if  to  say,  "  Can  this 
be  true  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Gordon  did  not  heed  the  glance. 
St.  John's  tones  and  words  had  waked  all  the 
fire  of  combat  within  her — all  the  haughty  spirit 
of  resistance  which  years  of  tyranny  had  failed 
to  subdue. 

"  Tell  the  man  for  whom  you  are  acting,"  she 
•aid,  with  all  languor  gone  from  her  face,  and  all 
weakness  from  her  voice,  "  that  if  he  is  wise, 
he  will  spare  himself  the  trouble  of  coming  here ; 
for  no  human  power  shall  ever  make  me  see  him 
again.  Tell  him  that  Felix  is  safe  from  him ;  and 
that  those  who  have  the  child  in  charge,  are 
neither  so  poor  nor  so  weak  as  to  be  frightened 
Dy  threats  of  any  penalty  which  it  is  in  his  power 
to  inflict.  Tell  him,  also,"  she  added,  with  a 
radden  flash  in  her  eyes  that  absolutely  made 
St  John  recoil  a  step,  "  that  he  had  better  think 
twice  before  he  cornea  to  seek  the  sister  of  Alfred 


Morton  in  her  own  home,  and  among  hei  own  kin- 
dred. I  have  only  to  speak,  and  there  are  men 
here  who  would  ask  nothing  better  than  to  take 
the  matter  of  vengeance  into  their  own  hands." 

"  You  know  your  husband,  madam,"  said  St. 
John,  quietly.  "  You  know  whether  such  threats 
as  that  are  likely  to  influence  him." 

"  As  for  you,"  she  went  on,  with  passion  so 
intense  that  it  made  her  whole  frame  quiver, 
and  her  voice  rise  to  that  infinite  height  of 
tragic  emotion  which  only  the  greatest  actors 
have  ever  been  able  to  imitate,  "  if  I  have 
spared  you,  it  has  been  because  I  recognized  the 
fact  th&t  you  are  simply  a  tool,  and,  consequent- 
ly, that  you  are  below  any  thing  save  contempt. 
But  if  you  trouble  me  again,  I  say  to  you,  as  I 
said  of  him,  that  there  are  men  who  would  ask 
nothing  better  than  to  rid  me  of  you  summarily. 
You  will  do  well  to  remember  this ! " 

"  If  your  friends  will  be  kind  enough  to  call 
on  me,  madam,"  said  St.  John,  with  superb  cool- 
ness, "  I  shall  be  happy  to  receive  them.  I  can 
make  them  accountable  for  the  words  you  have 
just  addressed  to  me,  because  I  have  endeavored, 
as  your  husband's  friend,  to  serve  his  interests." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Gordon,  let — let  me  take  you 
to  my  room,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  breaking  in  here 
with  a  half-bewildered  tone  of  expostulation.  "  I 
— had  no  idea  of  any  thing  like  this,  or  I  should 
not  have  come  in.  If  this  gentleman  will  move 
aside — " 

The  gentleman  moved  aside  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  this  request ;  but  Mrs.  Gordon  stood 
still — the  glow  was  yet  on  her  face,  and  it  was 
evident  that  she  had  yet  something  to  say.  This 
time  she  addressed  herself  to  Mrs.  Marks  : 

"  I  wished  to  speak  to  you  in  private,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  it  is  not  worth  while.  The  warning 
which  I  desired  to  give  you — which  it  is  my 
duty  to  give  you — had  better  be  spoken  in  the 
presence  of  the  person  against  whom  it  is 
directed.  I  find  Mr.  St.  John  apparently  at 
home  in  your  house.  I  do  not  know  how  long 
this  has  been  the  case,  nor  how  long  it  is  likely 
to  continue ;  but  I  warn  you  that,  if  you  were 
aware  of  his  real  character,  he  would  not  remain 
within  your  doors  five  minutes.  I  speak  of  this 
character,  because  I  know  it  to  my  cost.  He 
is  the  unprincipled  instrument  of  another  man 
whom  it  is  my  misfortune  to  call  my  husband. 
Miss  Tresham  has  sufficiently  shown  that  she  has 
some  close  connection  with  him.  What  that 
connection  is,  it  does  not  concern  me  to  inquire. 
Whether  or  not  it  concerns  you,  is  a  mattei 
which  I  leave  for  yourself  to  decide." 


OLD   FOES. 


131 


"  Miss  Katharine !  "  cried  Mrs.  Marks,  with 
one  great  culminating  gasp  of  astonishment. 
She  turned  and  looked  at  her  governess  with  an 
air  of  appeal.  Plainly  she  meant  to  say,  "  An- 
swer for  yourself." 

But,  as  it  chanced,  Mrs.  Gordon's  last  words 
had  tried  Katharine's  patience  to  its  utmost  limit. 
She  had,  so  far,  curbed  herself  steadily — wonder- 
fully, in  fact,  considering  how  much  she  had 
borne  before  Mrs.  Gordon's  entrance,  and  how 
much  she  had  been  called  upon  to  endure  since 
then — but  the  last  tones  of  scorn  roused  her  as 
she  had  not  been  roused  before.  She  answered 
Mrs.  Marks's  looks,  therefore,  by  a  few  haughty 
words. 

"  Mrs.  Gordon  is  perfectly  right,"  she  said. 
"My  connection  with  Mr.  St.  John  does  not  con- 
cern her  in  the  least.  I  decline  to  explain  it  in 
her  presence." 

Mrs.  Gordon  showed  her  appreciation  of  this 
reply  with  admirable  temper  and  dignity. 

"  Miss  Tresham  reminds  me  that  I  have  not 
yet.  said  good-morning,"  she  remarked.  "  Will 
you  allow  me  to  say  it  at  once,  and  to  add  that 
I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  at  Morton  House  ?  " 

She  shook  hands  cordially  with  Mrs.  Marks, 
bowed  distantly  to  Katharine,  and  left  the  room. 
Mrs.  Marks  followed  her,  and,  during  the  few 
minutes  which  ensued,  St.  John  was  able  to 
say : 

"  Was  there  ever  any  thing  as  unlucky  as 
that  she  should  have  found  me  here  ?  If  you 
had  gone  with  her,  you  could  have  discovered 
every  thing." 

"  You  have  only  yourself  to  thank  that  she 
found  you  liere,"  Katharine  answered.  "  But,  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  does  not  matter — I 
should  not  have  gone  with  her." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  You  know  why  not,  St.  John.  I  should 
only  have  laid  myself  open  to  the  imputation  of 
doing  what  you  wish  me  to  do,  of  being  what 
you  wish  me  to  be — that  is,  a  spy." 

At  this  point,  Mrs.  Marks  came  back  through 
the  passage — having  parted  with  Mrs.  Gordon  on 
the  front  piazza.  She  saw  the  dining-room  door 
still  open,  and  hesitated  a  moment.  Evidently 
curiosity  said,  "  Enter ;  "  evidently,  also,  discre- 
tion said,  "  Pass  on ; "  and,  between  the  two, 
she  stood  irresolute.  Seeing  her  irresolution, 
St.  John  astonished  Katharine  by  stepping  for- 
ward. 

"  Will  you  come  in,  madam  ? "  he  asked. 
"  In  my  own  defence,  and  that  of  Miss  Tresham, 
I  should  like  to  say  a  few  words  to  you." 


I  Mrs.  Marks  came  in — nowise  loath — but  Kath- 
arine hardly  saw  her.  It  was  now  her  turn  to  feel 
faint  and  sick — for  the  room  to  go  round  in  a 
sort  of  black  mist.  Through  this  mist,  she  heard 
St.  John  speak  as  if  he  had  been  a  great  way 
off. 

"  Since  you  know  Mrs.  Gordon,  madam,  you 
must  be  aware  that  she  is  of  a  very  excitable 
and  impulsive  disposition.  This  fact  will  ac- 
count lor  her  unprovoked  attack  on  Miss  Tresh- 
am and  on  myself.  I  came  to  this  place  in  igno- 
rance of  her  being  here  ;  but,  as  a  friend  of  her 
husband,  I  could  not  conceal  from  him  that  the 
wife  for  whom  he  has  been  searching  all  over 
Europe  is  in  America.  One  does  not  expect 
reason  from  an  angry  woman ;  but  you  heard 
how  unjustly  she  assailed  me,  on  account  of 
this  act  of  disinterested  friendship.  As  for  Miss 
Tresham,  I  will  not  insult  her  by  offering  to—" 

"  But  is  it  really  true  t  "  asked  Mrs.  Marks, 
mercilessly  interrupting  this  flow  of  language. 
"  Is  there  really  no  doubt  that  Mrs,  Gordon  has 
a  husband  living  ?  I — that  is,  we  thought  her  a 
widow." 

"  There  is  no  doubt,  madam,  that  her  hus- 
band is  living,  and  that  she  left  hioi  in  the 
most — " 

Here  Katharine  rose  and  came  forward. 

"  St.  John,  that  is  enough,"  she  said.  "  Mrs. 
Gordon's  domestic  troubles  cannot  interest  Mrs. 
Marks.  Will  you  go  now?  I  do  not  think  I 
can  stand  this  any  longer." 

She  spoke  quietly,  but  with  a  certain  deter- 
mination which,  almost  against  his  will,  St.  John 
obeyed.  He  started,  looked  at  her  face,  and,  see- 
ing the  resolution  of  the  eyes  that  met  his  own, 
went  to  the  mantel-piece  for  the  hat  he  had  left 
there. 

"  I  will  go,  certainly,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  must 
see  you  again.  When  can  that  be  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  wearily.  "  I 
shall  begin  teaching  on  Monday,  and — " 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  before  Monday." 

"  Come  when  you  choose,  then — that  is,  if 
Mrs.  Marks  does  not  object." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Mrs.  Marks.  "  I  am 
always  glad  for  any  of  Miss  Katharine's  friends 
to  come  to  see  her,  and  if  Mr." — she  stopped 
and  looked  at  Katharine. 

"  Mr.  St.  John,"  said  Katharine,  in  reply  to 
the  look. 

"  If  Mr.  St.  John  will  come  to  tea  this  even- 
ing, we  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  him." 

"  Thank  you,  madam,"  said  Mr.  St.  John, 
speaking  for  himself.  "  I  am  very  grateful  foi 


132 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


your  kind  invitation,  but  I  regret  to  say  that  I  am 
unable  to  accept  it.  I  have  business-letters  of 
Importance  to  write  to-day,  and  I  do  not  think 
I  shall  be  able  to  finish  them  in  time  to  do  my- 
self the  pleasure  of  coming." 

"  To-morrow  evening  —  "  began  hospitable 
Mrs.  Marks;  but  St.  John  had  already  turned 
away,  and  was  speaking  to  Katharine  in  a  tone 
too  low  for  her  to  hear  his  words.  As  Miss 
Tresham  replied,  the  coldness  of  her  manner 
struck  Mrs.  Marks  so  much  that  she  stopped 
short  in  her  second  invitation.  She  had  sup- 
posed that  this  handsome  gentleman  must  be  a 
favored  suitor,  but  now  she  began  to  change  her 
mind.  He  was  a  lover. — Oh,  dear !  evidently  a 
lover,  or  he  would  never  have  spoken  in  that 
voice,  and  with  that  manner — put  a  rejected, 
perhaps  a  hopeless  lover,  poor  fellow  !  His 
devotion  touched  her,  but  she  was  too  close  an 
observer  not  to  see  at  once  that  his  cause  was 
doomed  to  failure.  Men  are  sometimes  deceived 
by  the  coldness  of  a  woman,  are  sometimes  un- 
able to  tell  whether  this  coldness  is  that  which 
betrays  dislike,  or  that  which  conceals  love ;  but 
you  never  find  another  woman  who  is  so  blind. 
Mrs.  Marks  saw  at  once  that  there  was  no  hope 
for  Mr.  St.  John ;  and,  although  she  felt  sorry  for 
him,  although  she  would  have  liked  to  do  some- 
thing to  console  him,  still  she  had  sufficient  dis- 
cretion to  feel  that  the  invitation  to  tea  had  bet- 
ter not  be  pressed.  When  he  took  leave,  she 
threw  a  good  deal  of  respectful  sympathy  into  her 
manner ;  and,  after  he  was  gone,  she  would  have 
opened  fire  at  once  on  Katharine,  if  Katharine 
had  not  anticipated  any  address  on  her  part,  by 
coming  and  putting  her  arms  around  her. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  said,  sim- 
ply. "  I  am  very  glad  you  did  not  let  Mrs.  Gor- 
don prejudice  you  against  me.  But  do  not  ask 
Mr.  St.  John  here  again,  Mrs.  Marks.  I  do  not 
think  Mr.  Warwick  would  like  it." 

"  I  hope  I'm  mistress  in  my  own  house,  my 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  a  little  stiffly.  Then  she 
softened,  and  kissed  the  girl.  "I  won't,  of 
course,  if  you  say  not — it  was  only  because  he 
waa  a  friend  of  yours  that  I  asked  him.  I  can 
see  that  he  cares  a  great  deal  for  you,  and  that 
he  hasn't  much  in  the  way  of  hope  to  thank  you 
for.  But  I  don't  see  what  John  has  to  do  with 
It" 

"  Mr.  Warwick  is  Mrs.  Gordon's  friend,  and, 
naturally,  he  will  take  her  side,  and  look  on  her 
cause  as — as  she  does.  I  don't  mean  to  defend 
Mr.  St  John,' V  she  went  on,  hurriedly.  "  I  don't 
mean  that  they  may  not  be  right ;  but  still,  I 


should  like  to  see  him  sometimes,  as  long  as  he 
stays  here,  if  you  don't  object." 

"  My  dear,  I  don't  object  in  the  least,"  said 
the  elder  woman,  kindly.  "  Don't  be  afraid  of 
my  being  prejudiced  by  Pauline  Morton.  I 
know  how  quick  and  fiery  she  always  used  to  be. 
As  for  you,  I  would  trust  you  with — with  a  mint 
of  money,  if  I  had  it." 

"  You  have  trusted  me  with  the  children,  and 
they  are  worth  ten  mints  of  money,''  said  Katha- 
rine, smiling  faintly.  Then  she  disengaged  her- 
self, and  went  up-stairs. 

An  hour  or  two  afterward,  Mrs.  Marks  was 
in  the  dining-room,  where  Tom  was  busy  setting 
the  table,  when  she  was  startled  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Miss  Tresham,  who  entered  all  cloaked 
and  bonneted  as  if  for  a  journey,  and  with  a 
small  travelling-bag  on  her  arm. 

"  Mrs.  Marks,"  she  said,  "  will  you  lend  me 
a  little  money  ? — ten  dollars  will  do.  I  find  I 
have  none  in  my  purse,  and  I  want  to  catch  the 
coach,  and  go  over  to  Saxford.  I  cannot  be 
back  until  Monday  evening,  and  that  will  prevent 
my  beginning  school  until  Tuesday ;  but  I  hope 
you  won't  mind  it." 

"No — I  won't  mind  it,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  a 
little  taken  aback.  She  thought  Miss  Tresham 
was  growing  very  eccentric,  for  she  had  been  to 
Saxford  only  the  week  before  Chrisimas,  and  now 
to  go  again  so  soon,  was  quite  unprecedented 
and  singular,  to  say  the  least.  She  did  not 
think  of  refusing  her  consent,  however ;  but,  on 
the  contrary,  searched  diligently  for  her  purse  in 
the  depths  of  a  capacious  pocket. 

"  It's  late  to  be  thinking  of  going,  Miss 
Katharine,"  she  said.  "The  stage  !s  due  for 
dinner,  you  know ;  and  I'm  afraid  you'll  hardly 
catch  it  now.  Give  Tom  your  bag,  and  he  can 
put  some  ham  and  biscuit  in  it,  for  you  won't  be 
able  to  stay  for  dinner.  Will  two  five-dollar 
notes  do  ?  I  haven't  a  ten." 

"  Two  five-dollar  notes  will  do  very  well,"  said 
Katharine.  "  Thank  you,  and  good-by.  Kiss  the 
children  for  me — I  really  have  not  time  to  see 
them.  That  will  do,  Tom — give  me  my  bag 
now." 

She  took  the  bag,  kissed  Mrs.  Marks,  and  wa3 
out  of  the  door  before  that  astonished  woman 
had  time  to  collect  her  senses.  When  she  did, 
her  first  exclamation  was : 

"  What  will  Richard  sav  ?  " 


MORTON'S   CHOICE. 


133 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

MORTON'S   C'HOICE. 

THE  morning  on  which  Miss  Tresham  left 
Aunesdale  was  wearing  into  noon,  when  a  note 
from  Mrs.  Gordon  was  brought  to  Mr.  Annesley. 
It  was  written  after  her  return  from  Tallahoma, 
and  was  brief,  to  the  extreme  of  epistolary  brev- 
ity. 

"MOKTON  HOUSE,  Friday  morning. 
"  DEAR  MORTON  :  Come  to  me  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible— at  once,  if  that  be  possible.     I  have  some- 
thing of  importance  to  say  to  you.     Yours, 
"PAULINE   GORDON." 

Morton  chanced  to  be  standing  near  Irene 
Vernon  when  he  read  this,  and  his  change  of 
color  at  once  struck  that  young  lady,  who  was  a 
very  close  observer. 

"Nothing  is  the  matter,  I  hope,  Mr.  Annes- 
ley ?  "  she  said,  as  he  looked  up  and  met  her 
eye. 

"  N — o,"  answered  he,  a  little  hesitatingly. 
Then  he  glanced  down  at  the  note  again,  and 
went  on :  "  Nothing  is  the  matter,  I  hope ;  but  I 
must  go  at  once  to  Morton  House.  My  cousin 
has  sent  for  me." 

"  Oh,  how  provoking !  What  will  become  of 
our  ride  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  I  am  obliged  to  ask  you  to  defer  it.  You 
won't  care,  will  you  ?  I  am  very  sorry,  but " — 

"  But,  if  it  must  be  done,  that  is  an  end  of  the 
matter.  The  weather  may  be  as  delightful  to- 
morrow as  it  is  to-day.  At  all  events,  don't 
consider  me,  if  your  cousin  has  sent  for  you." 

"You  are  the  embodiment  of  obliging  good- 
ness," said  Morton,  gratefully.  Then,  to  the  ser- 
vant still  standing  by,  "  My  horse." 

While  the  horse  was  being  brought  out,  the 
young  man  curbed  his  impatience  as  well  as  he 
could ;  and,  to  enable  him  to  do  so,  took  Miss 
Vernon  partially  into  his  confidence.  He  did 
not  tell  her  all  of  Mrs.  Gordon's  story,  but  he 
told  her  enough  to  account  for  his  abrupt  depart- 
ure, and  to  enlist  her  sympathy.  After  a  while 
they  wandered  from  this  immediate  subject  to 
certain  side  issues. 

"There  is  one  thing  that  might  console  your 
eousin  a  little,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  as  they 
walked  up  and  down  the  piazza,  with  the  soft 
air  and  the  bright  sunshine  all  around  them. 
"She  has  gratified  the  wishes  and  fulfilled  the 
desires  of  her  heart.  It  is  not  given  to  every- 


body to  do  that,  you  know.  She  must  have  tasted 
some  sweets  before  the  bitter  came — ought  not 
that  to  help  her  to  resignation  ?  " 

"  Would  it  help  you,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"I  don't  know — but  it  seems  to  me  it  would. 
Any  thing  is  better  than  dull,  even  stagnation. 
A  still  day  of  leaden  cloud  is  the  dreariest  thing 
in  the  world — don't  you  think  so?  Ah,  how 
bright  and  beautiful  it  is  to-day !  If  I  knew 
that  to-morrow  would  bring  a  blinding  storm,  I 
should  still  take  the  sunshine,  and  enjoy  it  while 
it  lasted." 

"You  surprise  me,"  said  Morton,  smiling. 
"  I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  such  an  epi- 
curean. But,"  he  added,  more  gravely,  "you 
are  mistaken.  If  you  had  ever  known  Mrs. 
Gordon,  you  would  see  that  the  lesson  of  her 
life  is  directly  opposed  to  the  sentiment  you  are 
advocating — a  sentiment  which  has  found  its 
best  expression  in  the  words,  '  Let  us  eat  and 
drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die.'  The  lesson  of 
Mrs.  Gordon's  life  teaches  with  unusual  force  a 
thing  which  has  almost  grown  trite  in  our  ears 
— this  is,  that  the  gratification  of  our  own  wish- 
es, and  the  fulfilment  of  our  own  desires,  never 
brings  happiness.  Of  course,  we  all  think  it 
would  do  so;  and,  since  there  are  few  of  us 
who  are  free  enough  to  test  the  matter,  we  go 
on  to  our  lives'  ends  thinking  so.  But,  in  truth, 
when  we  see  those  who  possessed  the  freedom 
which  we  lacked,  and  who  marched  forward  to 
the  goal  of  their  own  hopes,  what  is  the  result? 
Mrs.  Gordon  was  one  of  those  people,  Miss  Ver- 
non ;  and,  if  you  could  see  her,  your  own  eyea 
would  assure  you  that,  for  her,  not  only  the  end, 
but  the  very  hour  of  fruition — if,  indeed,  there 
ever  is  an  hour  of  fruition — was  disappointment 
and  bitterness." 

"  But,  at  all  events,  she  has  not  merely  exist- 
ed— she  has  lived." 

"You  must  give  me  your  definition  of  life 
before  I  can  grant  you  even  that,"  he  said,  with 
a  slight,  grave  smile.  "  Does  life  consist  in  a 
certain  amount  of  sight-seeing,  a  certain  number 
of  vicissitudes  to  be  endured,  a  certain  depth  of 
emotion  to  be  sounded  ?  I  know  that  the  idea 
of  the  day  runs  somewhat  thus,  and  that  discon- 
tent is  rife  in  many  places,  because  some  people 
declare  that  life  is  only  worthy  of  the  name  when 
it  has  known  these  things.  But  it  seems  to  me 
that  minds  which  think  thus,  must  reason  very 
shallowly — else  they  could  hardly  fail  to  perceive 
that,  by  such  a  standard,  they  exalt  the  worst 
class  of  the  world  above  the  best.  In  their 
sense,  who  has  lived  most  thoroughly,  the  saini 


134 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


in  his  cloister,  the  philosopher  in  his  study,  the 
great  minds  and  hearts  that  solitude  has  nurtured 
in  all  ages,  or  the  reckless  adventurer,  the  wander- 
ing sybarite,  the  men  who  sound  every  scale  of 
human  life,  and,  dying,  pass  from  human  memory 
like  the  brutes  that  perish  ?  Miss  Vernon,  will 
you  tell  me  what  you  meant  by  saying  that  Mrs. 
Gordon  had  lived  ?  " 

"  I  meant  exactly  what  you  have  condemned, 
Mr.  Annesley.  I  meant  that  her  existence  has 
not  been  tame  and  stagnant,  and  cast  in  one 
groove ;  but  that  it  has  been  like  a  varied  drama, 
filled  with  many  scenes  and  many  emotions.  In 
short — well,  I  express  myself  badly,  but  I  think 
you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  do.  You  mean  that,  to  you, 
her  life  seems  like  a  picture,  where  the  shades 
only  heighten  the  effect ;  or,  like  a  story,  which 
would  lose  half  its  interest  if  it  had  no  tragic 
incidents,  or  pathetic  close.  But  the  tragedy 
and  the  pathos  are  not  poetical,  but  very  bitter, 
when  they  come  home  to  us  in  our  own  lives. 
If  you  will  allow  me  to  make  a.  personal  applica- 
tion of  my  meaning,  I  should  judge  from  what 
you  have  said  just  now,  and  from  many  things 
which  have  gone  before,  that  you  find  your  life 
dull  and  tame — it  may  be,  even  weary.  But  does 
it  never  occur  to  you  that  this  very  life  seems  to 
others  like  one  long  sunny  idyl  of  brightness 
and  peace  ?  Believe  me,  the  chief  secret  of  hap- 
piness— the  only  one,  in  fact — is  content  with 
that  life,  and  mode  of  life,  which  has  fallen  to 
our  portion.  I  don't  mean  that  we  can  obtain 
this  content  by  merely  wishing  for  it,"  said  the 
young  man,  with  a  wistful  look  on  his  face ; 
"  but  we  can  gain  it  by  fighting  for  it,  and  it  is 
worth  a  battle.  Forgive  me,  if  I  seem  to  be 
preaching  to  you,"  added  he,  with  a  smile.  "  I 
have  very  imperfectly  expressed  the  thoughts 
your  words  suggested  to  me,  but  perhaps  you 
can  seize  the  idea  through  the  rude  garb  in  which 
I  have  clothed  it.  It  has  only  come  to  me  dimly 
and  feebly,  but  there  is  a  thrill  about  it  which 
tells  me  that  I  am  on  the  threshold  of  a  great 
truth.  Yonder  is  my  horse,  at  last.  Now  my 
prosing  is  at  an  end.  Good-by." 

"  Good-by,"  echoed  Miss  Vernon,  giving  her 
hand,  unconsciously,  to  the  one  he  extended. 
"  I  did  not  know  you  thought  this  way,"  she 
went  on,  abruptly.  "  Your  creed  seems  to  me 
simple,  and  yet — I  fear  I  am  very  morbid,"  she 
laid,  quickly.  "  You  have  done  something  to 
make  me  ashamed  of  it." 

"  You  are  a  little  morbid,"  said  Morton,  smil- 
ing. "  You  must  forgive  me  if  I  tell  you  so,  and 


you  must  also  forgwe  me  if  I  suggest  the  remedy 
May  I  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  may." 

"  Forget  yourself,  then.  I  don't  mean  that 
you  think  of  yourself  a  great  deal,"  he  went  on, 
as  he  saw  her  flush  ;  "  but  we  are  all  prone  to 
self-consciousness,  and,  in  some  natures,  it  fos- 
ters vanity ;  in  others,  a  morbid  habit  of  intro- 
spection which — pshaw  !  I  am  drifting  into  meta- 
physics, and  I  know  you  hate  the  stuff  as  much 
as  I  do.  Once  more,  good-by.  I  am  off  for 
good,  this  time." 

Miss  Vernon  stood  on  the  piazza  and  watched 
him  as  he  rode  away.  He  looked  very  gallant 
and  handsome ;  for,  like  most  of  his  country- 
men, he  rode  to  perfection,  and  never  appeared 
so  well  as  on  horseback.  When  he  was  out  of 
sight,  she  smiled,  to  herself,  with  a  mixture  of 
archness  and  sadness.  Seen  just  now,  her  face 
wore  its  very  softest  and  sweetest  expression. 

"  It  is  not  hard  to  tell  where  he  obtains  his 
philosophy,"  she  thought.  "No  doubt  he  is 
perfectly  sincere  in  it,  but  it  is  amazingly  easy 
to  be  resigned  to  success,  and  to  be  content 
when  every  desire  of  one's  heart  is  gratified. 
The  test  will  be  when  disappointment  and  failure 
come.  If  his  philosophy  helps  him  to  bear 
that,  it  will  be  genuine,  and  worth  practising. 
Will  it  help  him  to  bear  it,  though  ?  Who  can 
tell?" 

Regarded  as  an  abstract  question,  who,  in- 
deed ?  Yot  the  time  was  fast  approaching  when 
the  abstract  question  would  assume  practical 
shape,  and  when  Miss  Vernon's  question  would 
be  answered  in  a  way  which  Miss  Vernon  could 
not,  at  that  moment,  possibly  have  foreseen  or 
imagined. 

She  was  still  standing  on  the  piazza,  still 
looking  absently  out  on  the  bright  landscape, 
still  thinking  of  Morton's  philosophy,  and  of  the 
chances  for  and  against  his  practising  it,  when 
Mrs.  Annesley  appeared  at  the  open  hall-door, 
and  walked  up  to  her. 

"  All  alone,  my  dear  ? "  she  said,  with  a 
smile,  in  which  the  kindness  for  once  was  real. 
"  I  thought  I  saw  Morton  with  you  a  few  min- 
utes ago  ?  " 

"You  did  see  him  with  me  a  few  minutes 
ago,"  Irene  answered ;  "  but  he  is  gone  now. 
Didn't  you  heafthe  tramp  of  his  horse  ?  " 

"  I  heard  the  tramp  of  somebody's  horse,  but 
I  had  no  idea  that  it  was  his.  Where  has  he 
gone  ?  " 

"  To  Morton  House,  I  believe." 

"  To  Morton  House !  "     The  extreme  of  sur 


MORTON'S   CHOICE. 


135 


prise  appeared  in  Mrs.  Annesley's  face.  "  Why, 
what  has  taken  him  there  ?  And  so  suddenly — 
without  a  word  to  me ! " 

"  A  note  from  Mrs.  Gordon  was  the  cause  of 
his  going,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  carelessly.  "  He 
showed  it  to  me,  because  he  had  an  engagement 
to  ride  with  me,  which,  in  consequence  of  this,  he 
was  obliged  to  break." 

"  And  what  was  in  the  note  ?  " 

"  Only  a  few  lines,  begging  him  to  come  to 
her  at  once,  on  a  matter  of  importance." 

"  Nothing  more  ?  " 

"  Nothing  more  at  all." 

"How  very  strange!"  said  Mrs.  Annesley, 
with  her  color  rising.  "  A  matter  of  impor- 
tance, and  not  one  word  to  me — either  from 
Pauline  or  Morton.  My  dear,  excuse  me,  and 
don't  think  it  is  curiosity  I  feel — I  am  surprised, 
and,  I  confess,  a  little  wounded,  that  I  should  be 
openly  excluded  from  the  confidence  of  my  son." 

"I  don't  think  Mr.  Annesley  knew  what  Mrs. 
Gordon  wants  with  him,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  see- 
ing the  mischief  she  had  unwittingly  done,  and 
being  anxious  to  smooth  the  lady's  ruffled  plumes. 
"  He  seemed  very  much  surprised,  and,  I  am  sure, 
he  never  thought — " 

"  That  is  just  it,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley,  a  little 
bitterly.  "  Of  course,  he  never  thought — or  per- 
haps he  receives  Pauline's  confidence  with  the 
stipulation  that  it  is  to  be  kept  from  me.  But 
we  mothers  must  make  up  our  minds  to  bear 
this,"  said  she,  recovering  her  usual  manner  by 
an  effort.  "  As  our  children  grow  older,  others 
supplant  us  in  their  hearts  and  minds,  and  we 
must  endeavor  to  abdicate  with  a  good  grace. 
If  we  could  only  choose  our  successors,  it  would 
not  be  hard  to  do  so,"  she  added,  drawing  the 
girl's  hand  within  her  arm,  with  a  smile. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Annesley,  you  do  your  son  great 
injustice,"  said  Irene,  speaking  quickly.  "No 
one  will  ever  supplant  you  in  his  heart.  I  don't 
think  you  know  how  much  he  loves  and  admires 
you.  It  often  makes  me  admire  Mm  to  see  it." 

"  You  reconcile  me  to  abdication,  my  dear," 
said  the  lady,  smiling  the  same  gracious  smile. 
*'Ah!  if  I  can  only  choose  my  successor" — she 
broke  off,  as  Irene  colored  and  drew  back  a  lit- 
tle. "  Forgive  me — I  only  meant  to  say  that  I 
am  very  happy  if  I  am  one  link  to  draw  you 
nearer  to  us.  Shall  we  go  in  now  ?  I  am  afraid 
you  find  it  cold  out  here." 

They  went  in ;  and  no  sooner  was  Mrs.  An- 
nesley able  to  make  a  retreat,  than  she  retired 
to  her  own  room,  and  rang  for  her  maid. 

"  Get  my  wrappings,  Julia,"  she  said,  "  and 


order  the  carriage.  Tell  Sarah  to  have  dinner 
an  hour  or  two  later  than  usual,  for  I  am  going 
to  Morton  House,  and  shall  not  be  back  at  the 
ordinary  time." 

While  his  mother,  at  Annesdale,  was  prepar- 
ing for  her  drive,  Morton  felt  as  if  the  ground 
had  absolutely  yielded  beneath  his  feet,  when 
Mrs.  Gordon,  who  was  in  a  state  of  strangely- 
passionate  excitement,  told  her  story  at  Morton 
House.  After  it  was  ended,  she  gave  the  reason 
that  had  made  her  send  for  him. 

"I  have  been  foolish  enough  to  encourage 
you  in  your  fancy  for  this  girl,"  she  said.  "  It 
was  my  duty,  therefore,  not  to  let  you  rest  an 
hour  in  ignorance  of  her  true  character — not  to 
fail  to  tell  you  at  once  that  I  consider  her  an 
adventuress  of  the  most  decided  stamp.  Mor- 
ton, for  Heaven's  sake — for  the  sake  of  your 
name,  your  honor,  and  your  friends — do  not  give 
another  thought  to  her !  " 

"  One  moment,"  said  Morton,  who  was  pale, 
but  reticent — evidently  he  meant  to  hear  every 
thing,  and  say  nothing  that  would  commit  him 
to  any  positive  line  of  action — "  you  have  not 
told  me  yet  why  you  think  this." 

"  Could  I  think  it  on  better  ground  than 
that  of  her  association  with  St.  John  ?  You 
don't  know — you  can  hardly  imagine — what  he 
is!" 

"  But  is  it  just  to  judge  her  by  him  ?  " 

"  What  could  be  more  just,  when  there  is 
evidently  some  link  of  familiar  connection  be- 
tween them  ?  Morton,  put  the  case  as  if  it  re- 
garded somebody  else.  What  would  you  think 
of  a  woman  who  was  on  terms  of — well,  we  will 
say  intimate  friendship,  with  a  man  than  whom 
the  lowest  sharper  is  not  more  destitute  of  honor 
— with  a  man  whose  record  is  one  that  exiles 
him  forever  from  the  companionship  of  honest 
people  ?  " 

"  She  may  not  know  this." 

"  Ask  her  if  she  does  not!  I  am  willing  to 
risk  every  thing  on  her  reply,  for  I  think  that 
circumstances  have  made  it  impossible  for  her 
to  speak  falsely.  Ask  her  if  she  does  not  know 
who  and  what  St.  John  is." 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said,  rising.  "  I  will 
ask  her.  That  is  the  straightforward  and  hon- 
est thing  to  do,  after  all.  Don't  think  that  I 
doubt  you,"  he  went  on,  looking  at  his  cousin 
"  Don't  think  that  I  am  ungenerous  enough  to 
blame  you  for  what  you  have  said.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  thank  you.  I  should  certainly  hear  all 
that  is  said — if  only  that  I  may  be  able  to  an- 
swer it.  You  must  forgive  me  that  I  cannol 


136 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


take  any  mere  circumstantial  evidence  against 
her.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  should  be  a  very  con- 
temptible fellow,  if  I  did." 

"  And  you  are  going  to  her  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gor- 
don, bitterly.  "Well — perhaps  it  may  be  best; 
but  oh,  Morton,  don't  be  rash !  Don't  say  any 
thing  that  you  may  hereafter  regret.  Give  me 
that  much  credence,  at  least." 

He  bent  down,  and  kissed  her  cheek — smiling 
with  an  attempt  at  cheerfulness  which  went  to 
her  heart  more  surely  than  any  pathos  could 
have  done.  He  was  mad  and  foolish,  she 
thought;  he  was  about  to  risk  the  happiness 
of  his  whole  life  in  the  blind  determination  to 
trust  to  the  last ;  yet,  even  while  she  felt  impa- 
tient, she  could  not  but  be  touched  by  his  sim- 
ple, steadfast  fidelity.  It  had  all  the  elements 
of  the  highest  chivalry  in  it,  though  nobody 
could  have  known  this  as  little  as  Morton  him- 
self. It  was  Mrs.  Gordon  who  recognized  it,  and 
who,  in  the  midst  of  her  anxiety  and  irritation, 
felt  suddenly  thrilled  by  admiration.  Still  she 
could  not  but  make  one  last  effort. 

"  Morton,"  she  said,  catching  his  hand  as  he 
bent  over  her,  "  listen  to  me.  I  am  much  older 
than  yourself,  and,  although  I  am  a  woman,  my 
knowledge  of  the  world  is  much  greater.  Be- 
sides, I  am  your  cousin — the  only  Morton  left, 
the  only  one  of  the  name  which  hereafter  you 
will  have  to  represent.  To  see  you  what  you  are 
—to  know  you  brave,  and  true,  and  loyal — has 
given  more  sunshine  to  my  life  than  you  would 
readily  believe.  If  he  lives,  Felix's  duties  will 
be  elsewhere — some  day,  therefore,  this  house 
must  be  yours.  This  has  been  my  only  comfort. 
Morton — remember  that  it  was  through  my  fault 
my  father  left  here ;  it  was  my  fault  my  brother 
never  took  his  place.  It  is  a  horrible  thing  to 
see,  when  it  is  too  late,  a  direct  sequence  of 
events — to  know  that  one's  own  hand  has  set 
in  motion  a  tide  which  ends  by  sweeping  away 
every  thing  that  life  holds  dear.  This  has  been 
my  lot.  Don't  add  one  more  disappointment  to 
it — one  more  bitter  memory.  Don't  ruin  your 
life,  and  tarnish  your  name,  by  marrying  this 
woman." 

The  earnestness,  the  passion  of  her  appeal, 
touched  Morton  deeply.  He  saw  plainly  enough 
that  the  question  of  his  happiness  was  with  her 
entirely  subordinate  to  the  question  of  family 
pride;  but  he  sympathized  with  this  sentiment 
sufficiently  to  feel  its  supremacy  no  hardship. 
In  these  times,  the  thought  that  any  thing  is  of 
more  importance  than  the  gratification  of  a  sen- 
timental fancy  is  quite  obsolete;  but,  in  that 


day,  a  few  people  (and  Morton  was  one  of  thes« 
people)  clung  to  the  old-fashioned  idea  that  there 
were  certain  claims  to  be  considered  in  such  a 
case,  certain  higher  duties  than  the  duty  of  mar- 
rying and  giving  in  marriage,  certain  principles 
to  be  observed,  and,  if  any  or  all  of  these  things 
clashed  with  love,  then  love  must  give  way.  We 
of  the  present  period  know  better  than  that. 
Having  the  grand  advantage  of  modern  enlight- 
enment, we  know  that  the  first  duty  of  every 
reasonable  human  being  is  a  duty  to  self.  And 
as  selfishness  generally  culminates  its  strength 
in  love — not  divine  love,  which  takes  us  out  of 
ourselves  into  something  higher,  but  that  passion 
bearing  its  name,  which  is  of  the  earth  earthy— 
so  love  must  needs  be  taught  to  override  all  the 
grand  old  watchwords  of  Faith,  and  Honor,  and 
Duty.  But,  as  we  have  said,  Morton  was  not  of 
this  day.  The  jargon  of  the  new  school  of  mor- 
alists would  have  been  a  foreign  language  to  his 
ears.  The  conception  of  sacrifice — the  concep- 
tion which  is  the  key-note  of  every  nature  which 
deserves  to  be  called  noble — had  always  been 
familiar  to  him,  had  grown  with  his  growth,  and 
strengthened  with  his  strength.  As  far  as  he 
was  concerned,  he  was  ready  to  put  his  own 
wishes  down  under  his  feet  for  the  sake  of  any 
thing  that  had  a  right  to  demand  the  offering; 
and,  reared  as  he  had  been,  the  name  that  he 
bore  was  one  of  these  things.  No  sacrifice  could 
be  counted  too  costly  that  would  help  to  keep  it 
pure  and  untarnished. 

Regarded  from  this  point  of  view,  his  course 
seemed  clear — but  then  there  was  another  side 
to  the  question,  or  else  all  this  explanation  need 
not  have  been  written.  To  Morton,  life  had  al- 
ways seemed  a  very  simple  thing,  and  he  had 
never  had  much  sympathy  with  those  who  pro- 
fessed to  find  it  otherwise.  "  The  path  of  duty  is 
always  clear  and  straight,"  he  said,  "and,  if  we 
follow  it,  we  can't  possibly  go  wrong.  The  peo- 
ple who  are  involved  in  moral  difficulties,  gener- 
ally make  them  for  themselves."  Now  the  time 
had  come  for  him  to  learn — as  everybody  who 
deals  in  such  fluent  generalities  sooner  or  later 
must  learn — that  life  is,  after  all,  a  very  com- 
plex tissue,  and  that,  without  being  addicted  to 
the  dangerous  pastime  of  splitting  hairs,  we  may 
find  ourselves  on  the  horns  of  a  moral  dilemma, 
and  be  honestly  and  seriously  puzzled  thereby. 
Two  duties  were  clashing  with  him  now,  and 
the  young  man  felt  sorely  uncertain  as  to  which 
had  the  strongest  claim  to  his  respect.  On  the 
one  side  was  the  name  to  which  a  gentleman  owes 
his  first  duty.  On  the  other,  that  principle  of 


MORTON'S   CHOICE. 


137 


•teadfast  fidelity  which  every  tradition  of  his 
creed,  and  instinct  of  his  nature,  made  a  solemn 
obligation.  Moved  as  he  had  been  by  Mrs. 
Gordon's  passionate  appeal,  he  was  not  yet 
ready  to  set  this  aside  as  naught — not  yet  ready 
to  believe  that  the  higher  duty  conflicted  with 
it. 

He  walked  away  to  the  window,  and  stood 
there  looking  out.  Before  him  lay  the  broad 
Morton  fields,  and  the  distant  shadowy  Morton 
woods.  Above  him  was  the  roof  which  he  had 
just  heard  Mrs.  Gordon  declare  might  some  day 
be  his  own — at  a  little  distance  from  him  sat  the 
woman  rendered  so  sadly  desolate  by  her  own 
folly,  the  woman  who  had  appealed  to  him  in  the 
name  of  family  honor,  who  had  bared  her  heart 
to  him,  and  prayed  him  to  spare  her  another 
cruel  blow.  Here  it  would  have  seemed  as  if 
every  influence  weighed  heavily  in  one  scale — as 
if  here  the  side  which  all  these  things  represented 
surely  must  prevail.  Yet  here  his  heart  spoke  to 
him  as  it  had  never  spoken  before.  Here  Katha- 
rine Tresham's  face  rose  before  him  witn  a  pathos 
and  a  beauty  which  the  face  itself  had  never 
owned.  Suddenly  the  passion  which  he  had 
heretofore  so  steadily  curbed,  so  sternly  kept 
obedient  to  his  will,  rose  up  in  revolt,  and  swept 
over  him  in  a  great  wave  that  fairly  startled  him. 
A  voice  seemed  to  speak  in  his  ear,  and  to  say : 
"  If  you  give  her  up  in  this  way,  you  are  a  das- 
tard ! "  It  was  in  obedience  to  this  voice  that 
he  turned  at  last  to  answer  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"  Until  I  have  seen  Miss  Tresham,  I  cannot 
tell  what  I  will  do,"  he  said.  "  I  can  only  say 
that  I  will  try  to  act  as  seems  to  me  right.  Many 
things  have  conspired  to  perplex  me  of  late; 
and,  at  this  moment,  I  am  only  certain  of  one 
thing — that  I  will  not  give  her  up  !  I  will  trust 
her  until  she  herself  proves  or  disproves  your 
opinion  of  her;  and  I  should  not  deserve  the 
name  of  gentleman  if  I  did  not  do  so." 

"  This  is  your  decision  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Gor- 
don. 

"  This  is  my  decision,"  he  answered. 

Something  like  a  faint  smile  of  pity  came  to 
the  lips  of  the  woman  who  had  gone  her  way,  and 
who  now  looked  back  on  the  results  of  it. 

"  We  are  all  alike,"  she  said.  "  Indeed,  all 
of  us  must  needs  run  our  own  course  of  folly, 
and  wreck  our  lives  according  to  our  own  fancy. 
I  suppose  it  is  useless  to  reason  with  you ;  and  I, 
of  all  people,  have  no  right — save  the  right  of 
•ad  experience — to  bid  you  stop  and  consider. 
Yet" — she  paused  a  moment — "yet  I  fancied 
jrou  would  be  different.  I  fancied  you  would 


rate  the  duty  you  owe  to  your  name  above  your 
passion  for  a  woman's  face." 

"And  I  thought  you  would  understand  me 
better,"  he  answered,  quickly.  "  I  thought  you 
would  believe  that  I  do  rate  it  above  every  thing 
excepting  my  duty  to  God,  and  that  if  my  love 
for  Katharine  Tresham  clashed  with  it,  I  would 
sacrifice  that  love  without  an  instant's  hesita- 
tion." 

"  If  it  clashed  with  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  it  clashed  with  it.  You  must  par- 
don  me  that  I  say  'if — but  your  opinion  is  only 
your  opinion,  you  know  ;  and,  in  a  matter  which 
concerns  the  happiness  of  my  whole  life,  I  can- 
not accept  any  thing  but  positive  evidence." 

"  One  word  more,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  as  he 
extended  his  hand  to  bid  her  good-by.  She  did 
not  take  the  hand,  but  rose  to  her  feet,  holding 
her  own  tightly  pressed  against  her  heart. 
"  You  will  not  misunderstand  what  I  am  going 
to  say,  I  am  sure ;  you  will  not  think  that  I  mean 
to  influence  you  by  any  thing  so  foolish,  and 
(from  me)  so  impertinent  as  a  threat,"  she  went 
on.  "  But  I  think  it  right  to  place  before  you 
the  consequences  of  the  step  you  seem  deter- 
mined to  take.  Morton,  that  woman  is  allied  in 
some  way  to  the  man  who  helped  to  ruin  my 
life  and  to  murder  my  brother.  If  you  make 
her  your  wife,  you  can  never  be  master  in  thi« 
house." 

She  spoke  quietly,  but  in  a  moment  she  saw 
that  she  had  spoken  unwisely.  Her  warning 
certainly  had  much  of  the  nature  of  a  threat  in 
it,  and  the  man  must  be  cold-blooded,  indeed, 
who,  in  a  matter  of  this  kind,  submits  to  be 
threatened. 

"  You  might  have  spared  me  this,"  said 
Morton,  with  more  hauteur  than  he  intended. 
"  My  resolution  with  regard  to  Miss  Tresham 
did  not  need  a  spur;  and  your  own  experience 
might  tell  you  whether  my  sense  of  family  obli- 
gation is  likely  to  be  increased  or  diminished  by 
the  knowledge  of  such  a  penalty.  I  see  that  I 
had  better  go,"  he  added,  after  a  short  pause. 
"  You  have  wounded  me,  and  I  may  pain  you,  if 
I  remain  any  longer.  Forgive  me  if  I  have 
seemed  abrupt  or  ungracious.  I — this  has  been 
a  harder  struggle  than  you  think." 

She  let  him  go  in  silence.  But  after  the  last 
echo  of  his  step  had  died  away,  the  reason  of 
this  became  evident.  She  sat  down,  and  a  rush 
of  tears  came  through  the  thin,  white  fingers 
which  covered  her  face. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Babette  opened  the  door 
and  brought  In  a  card. 


138 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"  The  lady  is  in  the  drawing-room,  and  insists 
on  seeing  madame,"  she  said. 

"I  can  sex  nobody,"  answered  Mrs.  Gordon, 
languidly.  Still  she  extended  her  hand,  and 
took  the  bit  of  pasteboard.  She  started  when 
she  read  Mrs.  Annesley's  name. 


CHAPTER  XX  FI. 

KR.    MARKS    ASSERTS   HIMSELF. 

MRS.  MARKS'S  doubt  of  what  "  Richard " 
would  have  to  say  on  the  subject  of  Miss  Tresh- 
am's  flitting,  proved  to  be  well  founded.  When 
the  cashier  came  home  to  dinner,  and  heard  his 
wife's  eager  recital  of  the  events  of  the  morning, 
he  looked  decidedly  grave.  The  mention  of  Mr. 
St.  John  recalled  Mr.  Warwick's  opinion  of  that 
gentleman,  and  for  Mr.  Warwick's  opinion  no- 
body entertained  a  greater  respect  than  his 
brother-in-law.  Then  Mrs.  Gordon's  warning 
seemed  to  Mr.  Marks  a  much  more  important 
matter  than  it  had  seemed  to  his  wife. 

"  Mrs.  Gordon  would  never  have  spoken  in 
that  way  without  some  cause,"  he  said,  when 
Mrs.  Marks  told  her  story.  After  this,  came 
the  news  of  Miss  Tresham's  sudden  departure 
— at  which  Mr.  Marks  startled  his  wife  by  the 
astonishment  of  his  face. 

"  Gone  ! "  he  said.  "  Gone,  just  at  the  close 
of  the  holidays,  and  before  she  had  been  in  the 
house  more  than  a  few  hours!  What  is  the 
meaning  of  it  ? — what  did  she  say  was  the  mean- 
ing of  it  ?  " 

"  I— really,  I  believe  she  only  said  she  was 
go*ng  to  Saxford,"  answered  Mrs.  Marks,  de- 
cidedly taken  aback.  "  She  asked  me  if  I  had 
auy  objection,  and  I  told  her  no.  I  thought  a 
day  or  two  would  not  matter  about  the  children, 
and  it  never  occurred  to  me  that  you  would  mind 
it." 

"I  mind  it,  because  I  don't  understand  it," 
said  Mr.  Marks,  with  the  same  unusual  gravity. 
"  It  don't  look  well  for  Miss  Tresham  to  be  neg- 
lecting her  duties  in  this  way ;  but,  as  you 
say,  a  day  or  two  wouldn't  matter — if  a  day  or 
two's  loss  of  time  was  all.  What  does  matter, 
is  some  explanation  of  this  strange  conduct. 
Think,  Bessie !  Did  she  tell  you  nothing  about 
ichy  she  was  going  to  Saxford  ?  " 

"She  did  not  tell  me  a  word,"  said  Mrs. 
Marks,  looking  and  feeling  a  little  crestfallen. 
"  She  came  in  here  in  a  great  hurry,  just  as 
Tom  was  setting  the  table,  and  asked  me  to  lend 


her  some  money,  ns  she  had  none,  and  wanted—- 
Why, Richard,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter?  " 

There  was  reason  enough  for  asking  the  ques- 
tion. Mr.  Marks's  eyes  opened  wide  on  his  star- 
tled wife,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  fully 
warranted  her  surprise.  When  she  broke  off 
in  this  way,  his  lips  had  already  formed  an  excla- 
mation. 

"  She  asked  you  for  money ! "  he  repeate< 
hastily.  "  Bessie,  there  must  be  some  mistake 
Are  you  sure  she  asked  you  for  money  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am  sure !  How  could  I  be  mis- 
taken ?  " 

"  And  did  you  lend  her  any  ?  " 

u  Of  course  I  did — I  lent  her  ten  dollars." 

"  Ten  dollars  !  " 

The  cashier's  astonishment  seemed  to  have 
reached  the  utmost  extreme  possible  to  that 
emotion.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  floor, 
then  came  back  and  stood  before  the  fire,  look- 
ing  down  into  the  glowing  coals. 

"  This  is  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  heard 
of!"  he  said,  at  last.  "I  confess  I  don't  under- 
stand it." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  demanded  Mrs. 
Marks,  who  was,  in  her  turn,  excited  by  curios- 
ity. "What  is  strange? — what  is  it  you  don't 
understand  ?  Why  shouldn't  Miss  Tresham  aik 
me  to  lend  her  some  money  ?  " 

Her  husband  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"  The  simple  reason  why  Miss  Tresham  should 
not  have  asked  you  to  lend  her  some  money  is, 
that  I  paid  Miss  Tresham  no  less  sum  than  a 
thousand  dollars  no  longer  ago  than  last  Tues- 
day." 

"  Richard ! " 

"  Her  receipt  is  at  the  bank  to  show  for  i* 
said   Mr.   Marks  ;    "  and   now — on   Friday — sh* 
comes  to  you  to  borrow  ten  dollars  !     It  is  very 
strange  conduct,  to  say  the  least  of  it." 

"  A  thousand  dollars  !  Good  gracious  ! 
What  do  you  think  she  could  have  done  with 
it?"  cried  Mrs.  Marks,  all  in  a  flutter.  "She 
certainly  said  she  didn't  have  any  money,  and 
she  certainly  took  two  five-dollar  notes  from 
me.  Richard,  what  on  earth  could  she  have 
done  with  it  ?  " 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  pretend  to  say," 
answered  her  husband.  "  But  one  thing  is  cer- 
tain— I  don't, like  the  look  of  matters.  When 
Miss  Tresham  drew  that  money,  she  was  very 
particular  about  requiring  gold.  Then  she  wrote 
a  note  in  the  bank,  and  had  a  meeting  in  the 
parlor  across  the  passage,  with  this  St.  John. 
After  that  she  went  away,  and  Warwick  cam« 


MR.  MARKS  ASSERTS   HIMSELF. 


139 


ha.  The  first  thing  he  told  me  was  that  the 
man — St.  John,  I  mean — was  an  unprincipled 
scoundrel ;  and,  though  he  did  not  give  me  his 
reasons  for  saying  so,  he  spoke  in  a  manner 
which  showed  very  plainly  that  he  had  reasons, 
and  good  ones,  for  the  opinion.  I  confess  that, 
at  the  time,  I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to  the 
matter ;  but,  looking  back  now,  it  seems  to  me 
more  serious.  After  what  has  happened  to-day, 
I  feel  uneasy — I  feel  certain  that  something  is 
wrong." 

"  Not  with  Miss  Tresham,  Richard — I'm  sure 
there's  nothing  wrong  with  Miss  Tresham." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Miss  Tresham, 
Bessie  ?  You  may  forget,  but  I  don't,  that  we 
engaged  her  when  she  was  an  entire  stranger  to 
us,  and  that,  after  living  with  us  two  years,  she 
is,  as  far  as  her  own  affairs  are  concerned,  as 
much  a  stranger  as  ever." 

"  But  you  know  how  nice  she  is  ! "  said  Mrs. 
Marks,  indignantly.  "  You  know  all  that  she  has 
done  for  the  children,  and — and  all  that  she  has 
done  for  me.  You  liked  her  yourself,  Richard — 
you  know  you  did ! " 

"  I  like  her  now,''  said  Mr.  Marks,  with  that 
stolid  masculine  coolness  which  some  men  pos- 
sess in  superlative  degree,  and  which  is,  to  the 
feminine  mind,  the  most  exasperating  thing  in 
the  world.  "  But  what  has  that  got  to  do  with 
the  matter  ?  I'm  not  talking  about  liking  her. 
I'm  talking  about  her  drawing  that  money,  and 
borrowing  ten  dollars  from  you  three  days  later 
— I  am  talking  about  her  acquaintance  with  this 
St.  John,  and  what  Mrs.  Gordon  said  of  it — and 
I'm  talking  of  her  going  away  without  a  word 
of  explanation,  just  as  the  holidays  are  at  an 
end." 

Mrs.  Marks  sat  dumb.  She  was  a  good  par- 
tisan ;  but  even  the  best  of  partisans  must  have 
something  besides  mere  opinion  with  which  to  op- 
pose stated  facts.  On  any  one  of  these  grounds, 
she  was  unable  to  say  any  thing  for  Miss  Tresh- 
am. After  a  minute's  silence,  Mr.  Marks  re- 
sumed : 

"  One  of  two  things  must  happen.  Either 
Miss  Tresham  has  gone  away  for  good — than 
which,  I  confess  I  think  nothing  more  likely — 
or  else  she  will  come  back  at  the  stated  time. 
If  she  does  come  back,  there  must  be  an  expla- 
nation required  from  her.  I  must  know  who 
Mr.  St.  John  is,  an<l  on  what  footing  he  comes 
here.  Otherwise,  I  may  be  sorry  to  part  with 
her,  but  my  duty  is  plain — she  must  go.  I  can- 
not keep  a  governess  who  acts  as  Miss  Tresham 
has  been  acting  lately." 


So  spoke  the  head  of  the  household  in  his 
official  capacity  ;  and  much  as  his  wife's  sym- 
pathy ranged  on  the  side  of  the  governess,  she 
could  not  deny  that  he  spoke  with  reason.  Misa 
Tresham's  conduct  certainly  justified  all  that  he 
said  of  it.  Yet  the  unreasoning  faith  of  Miss 
Tresham's  advocate  was  not  shaken  for  an  in- 
stant. 0  wonderful  instinct  of  woman !  There 
is  nothing  like  it  in  the  world ;  and  where  it  has 
taken  one  woman  wrong,  it  has  led  a  hundred 
thousand  right.  Yet  there  are  people  who  would 
like  to  educate  and  "  develop  "  it  into  a  "  reason- 
ing faculty ! "  Why  does  not  somebody  come 
forward  to  paint  the  lilies  of  the  field,  and  furnish 
us  with  patent  improved  sunlight,  warranted  to 
shine  on  every  occasion  ? 

Oblivious,  for  once,  of  his  business  duties  in 
town,  Mr.  Marks  was  still  standing  before  the 
fire,  considering  the  perplexing  subject  which  was 
on  the  domestic  tapis,  when  there  came  a  knock 
at  the  front  door. 

"  There,  now ! "  said  Mrs.  Marks,  starting. 
"Of  course  it's  somebody  to  see  me — Mrs. 
Sloan,  I  expect — and  what  a  sight  I  am !  Go, 
Richard,  please,  and  ask  her  into  the  par- 
lor." 

Mr.  Marks  obeyed,  and,  as  he  carelessly  left 
the  door  open  behind  him,  his  wife  heard  him 
exchange  a  cordial  greeting  with  the  visitor; 
and  then,  without  any  warning,  he  came  back, 
and  ushered  Morton  Annesley  into  the  dining- 
room,  where  the  uncleared  dinner-table  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  floor — Mrs.  Marks  having  been 
in  such  a  fever  of  impatience  to  tell  her  story, 
that  she  had  not  allowed  Tom  to  finish  his 
duties. 

"  Oh,  my  dear ! "  she  cried,  in  a  tone  of  expos- 
tulation. But  it  was  too  late.  Morton — who 
would  have  been  none  the  wiser  if  there  had 
been  an  elephant,  instead  of  a  dinner-table,  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor — walked  forward  and 
shook  hands  with  her. 

"  Pray  don't  speak  of  it,"  he  said,  when  she 
began  apologizing.  "  I  hope  you  don't  consider 
me  a  stranger.  Mr.  Marks,  at  least,  was  more 
complimentary,  for  he  asked  me  in  at  once.  I 
hope  you  are  well.  I  have  not  seen  you  for  a 
long  time — not  since  before  Christmas,  I  be- 
lieve. May  I  wish  you  a.  happy  New  Year, 
since  we  did  not  have  an  opportunity  to  ex- 
change Christmas  greetings  ? — Yes,  Mr.  Marks — 
the  roads  are  quite  heavy.  That  rain  yesterday 
has  made  them  muddy.  My  boots  show  it— 
don't  they  ?  " 

People  less  clear-sighted  than  Mr.  Marks  and 


140 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


his  wife  might  have  perceived  that  the  young 
man  made  these  disjointed  remarks  very  absent- 
ly, that  his  h)?s  turned  unconsciously  toward  the 
door,  and  that  he  started  at  every  noise  in  the 
passage  outside.  They  glanced  at  each  other 
significantly,  but  were  kind  enough  to  take  no 
further  notice,  and  talked  of  indifferent  things, 
until  Morton  himself  came  directly  to  the  point, 
in  his  frank,  somewhat  boyish  fashion.  Mrs. 
Marks  spoke  of  Miss  Tresham's  enjoyment  at 
Annesdale,  and  Morton  instantly  caught  at  her 
name. 

"I  hope  she  did  enjoy  herself,"  he  said. 
Then  he  added,  quickly :  "  Is  Miss  Tresham  dis- 
engaged just  now  ? — I  should  like  to  see  her,  if 
she  is.  I  am  obliged  to  return  to  Annesdale 
very  soon,  and  I  am  particularly  anxious — " 

He  stopped  short.  The  expression  of  Mrs. 
Marks's  face  warned  him  that  something  was 
wrong.  He  looked  hastily  from  herself  to 
her  husband,  and  read  the  same  expression 
still  more  strongly  stamped  on  the  masculine 
face. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked,  impetu- 
ously. "  Miss  Tresham — " 

Here  Mrs.  Marks  interrupted : 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  Mr.  Annesley,  that  Miss 
Tresham  is  not  at  home.  She  left  to-day  for  Sax- 
ford." 

"Left!" 

Morton  was  astounded.  In  a  moment  his 
mind  ran  over  a  terrible  possibility — the  possi- 
bility that  there  had  been  some  misunderstand- 
ing between  Miss  Tresham  and  her  employers, 
which  had  resulted  in  her  leaving  Tallahoma  per- 
manently. 

"Left— for  Saxford!"  he  repeated.  "Mrs. 
Marks,  what  is  the  meaning  of  that  ?  " 

"Don't  ask  me,  Mr.  Annesley,"  said  Mrs. 
Marks.  "  If  my  life  depended  on  it,  I  could  not 
tell  you  a  thing  more  than  just  that — she  has 
gone  to  Saxford.  I  am  sure  it  didn't  strike  me 
as  strange ;  but  here's  Richard  has  been  talking 
about  it,  and — " 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  said  Richard,  speak- 
ing for  himself.  "  I  don't  pretend  to  under- 
stand  it.  I  don't  wonder  you  are  astonished, 
Mr.  Annesley.  I  was  astonished  myself  when  I 
came  home  and  heard  that  Miss  Tresham  was 
gone." 

"When  will  she  be  back?"  asked  Morton, 
catching  at  the  first  idea  which  presented  itself 
to  him. 

"On  Monday,"  answered  Mrs.  Marks,  to 
whom  the  question  was  addressed.  "  She  said 


she  would  be  back  on  Monday,  Mr.  Annesley, 
and  I  am  sure  she  will  come.  Miss  Katharine 
never  breaks  her  word." 

"  But  why  did  she  go  away  ?  "  asked  Morton, 
impatiently.  "  Did  she  not  tell  you  why  she 
went  ? " 

Mrs.  Marks  looked  at  her  husband,  and  Mr. 
Marks  looked  at  his  wife.  This  time  Annesley 
perceived  the  glance,  and  saw  plainly  that  there 
was  something  in  reserve  which  he  was  not  to 
hear.  Determined  to  know  if  any  thing  had 
happened  after  Mrs.  Gordon  left  the  house,  he 
boldly  broke  the  ice  at  once. 

"I  have  been  to  Morton  House  and  seen 
my  cousin,"  he  said.  "  I  am  aware  of  the  un- 
fortunate" — he  stopped  a  moment,  as  if  search- 
ing for  a  word  —  "  the  unfortunate  discussion 
which  took  place  this  morning.  Will  you  allow 
me  to  inquire  if  that  discussion,  or  any  thing 
resulting  from  it,  was  the  cause  of  Miss  Tresh- 
am's leaving  Tallahoma  ?  " 

On  this  point  Mrs.  Marks  professed  utter 
ignorance,  and  she  was  going  on  to  state  every 
thing  which  she  had  already  told  to  her  hus 
band,  when  Mr.  Marks  broke  in : 

"  Since  you  have  seen  Mrs.  Gordon,  Mr.  An- 
nesley, I  need  not  hesitate  to  say  to  you  that  I 
am  seriously  perplexed  and  uneasy  about  thia 
affair  of  Miss  Tresham.  As  I  was  telling  my 
wife,  just  before  you  came  in,  there  are  more 
reasons  than  the  reason  of  Mrs.  Gordon's  warn- 
ing for  distrusting  Mr.  St.  John,  and  Miss  Tresh- 
am's connection  with  him.  You  know  her  quite 
well,  I  believe :  will  you  tell  me  if  she  has  ever 
mentioned  the  man  or  any  thing  about  him  to 
you?" 

Morton  flushed.  He  remembered  the  eve  of 
New  Year,  and  the  manner  in  which  Miss  Tresh- 
am  had  repulsed  his  first  and  last  attempt  to  win 
her  confidence.  Oh,  if  she  had  only  been  frank 
with  him,  the  young  man  thought,  if  she  had 
only  trusted  him,  and  given  him  a  right  to  speak 
for  her!  But  she  had  not  done  this,  and  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  answer  Mr.  Marks's 
question  by  the  truth. 

"  She  has  never  mentioned  Mr.  St.  John's 
name  to  me,"  said  he.  "  But  I  have  never  been 
in  a  position  to  receive  her  confidence." 

"Hum!"  said  the  cashier,  significantly—- 
looking  the  while  at  his  wife,  and  smoothing 
with  one  hand  his  well-shaven  chin.  "  I  cannot 
find,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  "  that  Miss  Tresh- 
am has  ever  mentioned  Mr.  St.  John's  name  to 
any  one;  and,  even  after  Mrs.  Gordon's  visit,  she 
gave  my  wife  no  explanation  of  his  purpose  in 


MR.  MARKS  ASSERTS   HIMSELF. 


141 


coming  here,  or  of  her  acquaintance  with  him. 
My  own  impression,"  added  he,  "is,  that  she 
has  left  Tallahoma  simply  to  avoid  giving  this 
explanation." 

"  But  when  she  returns  on  Monday  ?  ' 

"  When  she  returns  on  Monday — or,  to  speak 
more  correctly,  if  she  returns  on  Monday — I  shall 
certainly  endeavor  to  obtain  this  explanation.  If 
I  cannot  obtain  it,  Mr.  Annesley,  my  mind  is 
made  up — Miss  Tresham  must  leave  my  house." 

An  indignant  reply  rose  to  Anuesley's  lips, 
but  he  had  sense  enough  to  restrain  it — sense 
enough  to  see  that  he  would  do  harm,  instead  of 
good,  by  uttering  it.  What  business,  after  all, 
was  it  of  his  ?  what  right  had  he  to  interfere  in 
Mr.  Marks's  domestic  affairs?  Angry  as  he  was, 
he  asked  himself  this  question,  and  accepted  the 
obvious  reply.  During  the  minute  which  fol- 
lowed Mr.  Marks's  speech,  nothing  was  said. 
Then  Annesley  rose,  and  began  drawing  on  his 
gloves. 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  call  again  on 
Monday  to  see  Miss  Tresham,"  he  said,  with  un- 
usual formality.  "  I  am  sorry — very  sorry  that 
she  has  left  Tallahoma.  But,  if  you  will  excuse 
me,  Mr.  Marks,  I  would  advise  you  to  suspend 
judgment  upon  the  matter  until  she  returns." 

Before  Mr.  Marks  could  reply  to  this  advice, 
there  came  an  interruption.  The  door  opened, 
and  Letty  appeared.  She  addressed  herself  to 
her  mistress. 

"  There's  a  gentleman  out  here  to  see  Miss 
Tresham,  ma'am,  and  he  wants  to  know  if  you 
can  tell  him  when  she  will  be  back." 

"  Miss  Tresham  will  be  back  on  Monday," 
answered  Mrs.  Marks.  "  Tell  the  gentleman — 
or,  no,  stop. — My  dear "  (to  Mr.  Marks),  "  per- 
haps you  had  better  see  who  it  is,  and  speak  to 
him  yourself." 

Mr.  Marks  went  out,  and  Morton,  after  shak- 
ing hands  with  Mrs.  Marks,  followed  him.  At 
the  front  door  they  met  St.  John,  whom  Morton 
had  seen  once  before,  and  the  cashier  never  at 
all. 

A  glance  was  sufficient  to  show  them  that 
Mr.  St.  John  was  very  decidedly  out  of  temper. 
The  face,  which  on  occasions  could  be  so  bland 
and  smiling,  was  now  set  and  lowering  in  sin- 
gularly marked  degree.  It  did  not  even  lighten 
when  he  saw  the  two  men  who  advanced  toward 
him. 

"  Mr.  Marks,  I  presume,"  he  said,  raising  his 
hat  as  Mr.  Marks  came  down  the  passnge.  Then, 
glancing  at  Annesley,  he  started,  and  bowed  with- 
out any  sign  of  recognition.  For  some  reason,  he 
10 


evidently  chose  to  ignore  their  previous  meeting, 
and  addressed  himself  solely  to  the  master  of 
the  house. 

"  I  have  called  to  see  Miss  Tresham,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  am  surprised  to  hear  from  your 
servant  that  she  has  left  Tallahoma.  Will  you 
allow  me  to  inquire  if  this  is  true  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Marks,  witb 
business-like  brevity. 

"  May  I  ask  where  she  has  gone,  and  when 
she  will  return  ?  " 

"  She  has  gone  to  Saxford,  and  will  probably 
return  on  Monday — at  least  she  told  my  wife  to 
expect  her  on  that  day." 

A  dead  pause.  An  expression  on  Mr.  Marks's 
face,  and  in  Mr.  Marks's  attitude,  which  said : 
"  Your  questions  are  answered.  Take  leave." 
An  expression  on  St.  John's  face  of  perplexed 
astonishment,  and  half-absent  thought,  which 
Annesley,  watching  him  closely,  felt  sure  was 
not  assumed.  He  looked  silently  at  his  boots 
for  a  second,  then  glanced  up  again  at  the 
cashier. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  "  but  this  news  is 
very  unexpected — and  surprising.  When  I  was 
here  this  morning,  Miss  Tresham  gave  no  inti- 
mation of  any  such  intention  as  this.  Shall  I 
trespass  too  much  on  your  kindness  if  I  ask  you 
to  inquire  whether  she  left  any  message  or  note 
for  me— that  is,  for  Mr.  St.  John  ?  " 

"  I  can  inquire,  sir,  but  I  do  not  think  it  is 
likely,"  said  Mr.  Marks,  with  the  same  forbidding 
civility. 

He  walked  down  the  passage,  and,  without 
entering  the  dining-room,  held  an  audible  con- 
versation with  his  wife. 

"  Bessie,  did  Miss  Tresham  leave  any  note  or 
message  for  Mr.  St.  John  ?  " 

Reply  of  Mrs.  Marks  from  behind  the  scenes : 
"  Not  a  word,  or  a  line,  with  me,  Richard." 

"  You  are  sure  of  this  ?  " 

"  I  am  perfectly  sure.  She  never  mentioned 
him." 

"  Miss  Tresham  has  left  nothing  for  you,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Marks,  returning  to  Mr.  St.  John.  "  I 
regret  that  I  am  not  able  to  give  you  any  further 
information  about  the  reason  of  her  departure." 

"  You  can  give  me  one  item  of  further  infor- 
mation," said  St.  John,  manifestly  proof  against 
the  plainest  of  hints.  "  Is  Miss  Tresham  in  the 
habit  of  going  to  Saxford  ?  " 

"  She  is  in  the  habit  of  going  there  once  a 
mouth  or  so." 

"  May  I  ask  if  she  has  any  acquaintances 
there  ? " 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"  She  goes,  I  believe,  to  see  a  Catholic  priest," 
answered  Mr.  Marks.  Then  he  lost  patience, 
and  showed  it  in  a  way  very  unusual  with  him. 
"  You  must  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  decline  to  answer 
any  more  questions.  Miss  Tresham's  private 
H flairs  are  her  private  affairs ;  and,  since  she  has 
been  living  in  my  family,  I  have  never  interfered 
with  or  inquired  into  them." 

"  Allow  me  to  admire  your  discretion,"  said 
Mr.  St.  John,  with  the  same  bow  which  had  once 
irritated  Morton  by  its  covert  mockery.  "  I  re- 
gret to  have  trespassed  so  long  on  your  time  and 
civility,  and  I  have  the  honor  to  wish  you  good- 
day." 

In  another  bow  he  included  Annesley,  and 
then  went  his  way,  leaving  Mr.  Marks  with  an 
angry  sense  of  having  had  the  worst  of  it. 

"  An  insolent  scoundrel !  "  said  he,  as  soon  as 
St.  John  was  out  of  hearing.  "  What  do  you 
Bay,  Mr.  Annesley  ? "  he  went  on,  turning  to 
Morton.  "  Don't  you  think  that  '  rascal '  is 
written  legibly  on  his  face  ?  " 

"  I  don't  especially  fancy  his  face,"  said 
Morton  ;  "  but  I  should  not  like  to  say  that  any 
thing  particular  is  written  on  it.  One  thing 
is  certain,"  he  went  on,  more  slowly;  "Miss 
Tresham's  departure  has  taken  him  by  sur- 
prise." 

"  That  is  to  say,  he  looked  as  if  it  had," 
naid  Mr.  Marks,  who,  what  with  Mr.  Warwick's 
opinion,  Mrs.  Gordon's  opinion,  and  his  own 
discomfiture,  was  ready  to  believe  the  very 
worst  of  Mr.  St.  John.  "  Candidly,  however, 
Mr.  Annesley,  I  don't  trust  any  thing  about 
him." 

"  You  think—" 

"  I  think  that  I  will  follow  your  advice  of  a 
little  while  ago,  and  wait  and  see.  Miss  Tresh- 
am  may  come  back  on  Monday.  If  she  does, 
we  can  clear  up  matters  speedily,  and  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  trouble  ourselves  with  conjec- 
tures." 

"  Meanwhile,  however,  you  distrust  Mr.  St. 
John  ?  " 

"  Meanwhile,  I  do  most  decidedly  distrust  Mr. 
St.  John," 

With  this  interchange  of  sentiment,  the  con- 
versation ended.  The  two  men  walked  to  the 
gate  together,  and  there  separated — Mr.  Marks 
going  into  town,  and  Annesley  riding  off  in  the 
opposite  direction. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

MRS.  GORDON'S  SUGGESTION. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Gordon  read  her  cousin's  nam« 
on  the  card,  she  hesitated  a  moment.  Then  she 
surprised  Babette  by  lifting  her  face  with  an  air 
of  decision. 

"  I  will  see  Mrs.  Annesley,"  she  said.  "  Ask 
her  in  here." 

Babette  left  the  room  to  obey  the  direction, 
and  a  minute  or  two  of  silence  followed.  To 
Mrs.  Gordon  the  interval  seemed  much  longer 
than  it  really  was,  and  she  had  extended  her 
hand  to  ring  the  bell  and  ask  the  cause  of  the 
delay,  when  there  came  the  sound  of  foot-steps, 
and  the  rustle  of  silk,  crossing  the  passage. 
Through  the  closed  door  she  heard  Mr?.  Annes- 
ley's  voice : 

"  Just  left,  you  say  ? — not  more  than  half 
an  hour  ago  ?  It  is  strange  I  did  not  meet 
him.  Do  you  know  where  he  was  going  ?  " 

"  No,  madame,"  said  Babette,  in  reply. 

Catching  both  the  question  and  the  reply, 
Mrs.  Gordon  dropped  the  bell-rope  with  a  smile. 
"  I  might  have  known  what  detained  her,"  she 
thought  —  and,  as  she  thought  it,  the  door 
opened. 

The  two  ladies  met  in  the  centre  of  the 
floor,  and  greeted  each  other  with  a  moderate 
show  of  warmth.  They  called  each  other  "my 
dear  Elinor,"  and  "  my  dear  Pauline,"  but,  be- 
yond  this,  there  was  not  much  of  effusion  on 
either  side.  They  shook  hands,  kissed  lightly, 
spoke  of  the  weather,  and  sat  down  opposite  each 
other,  like  two  ordinary  acquaintances.  Mrs. 
Annesley  looked  at  ease,  but  in  fact  she  was 
very  far  from  that  enviable  state  of  mind.  She 
remembered  her  former  discomfiture  in  thnt 
house  ;  and  something  in  her  cousin's  face 
seemed  to  warn  her  that  it  might  possibly  be 
repeated.  • 

Nevertheless,  she  plunged  boldly  into  con- 
versation, and  began  deploring  the  many  social 
duties  that  had  kept  her  so  long  from  Morton 
House.  "  I  am  sure  you  believe  that  I  would 
have  come  if  I  could,"  said  she,  looking  at  her 
cousin.  "  Oh,  my  dear  Pauline,  how  wise  you 
were  in  declining  to  reenter  society  1  I  so 
often  think  of  you,  and  envy  you — so  retired, 
so  quiet,  so  surrounded  by  repose.  As  for 
poor  me — I  might  as  well  be  a  galley-slave, 
for  all  the  liberty  I  have !  If  it  were  not  for 
the  sake  of  my  children,  I  really  think  I  should 
give  up  society  entirely.  It  tries  my  health  so 


MRS.  GORDON'S   SUGGESTION. 


143 


geverely,  and  is  so  unsuited  to  my  taste.  A 
quiet  day  with  you,  now,  would  have  been 
much  more  agreeable  to  me  than  all  the  gay 
times  we  have  had  at  Annesdale." 

"  I  should  have  been  glad  to  see  you,  if  you 
had  come,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon ;  "  but  pray,  Eli- 
nor, don't  trouble  yourself  to  make  excuses  for 
not  having  done  so.  I  understood  your  position 
quite  well.  It  is  hard  for  any  one  in  the  full 
tide  of  social  life  to  be  able  to  see  much  of  an- 
other person  who  is  entirely  apart  from  that 
life." 

"  My  only  consolation,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley, 
"  has  been  that  Morton  sees  so  much  of  you. 
Riding  continually  about  the  country,  he  is  able 
to  come  here  more  often  than  I  possibly  could  ; 
and  I  have  been  so  glad  of  it.  I  did  not  feel  as 
if  I  were  completely  neglecting  you,  while  he  was 
my  representative." 

"  There  was  no  cause  for  you  to  feel  so," 
said  Mrs.  Gordon,  a  little  coldly. 

She  was  growing  weary  of  these  prolonged 
excuses,  and  did  not,  see  the  point  of  them.  Mrs. 
Annesley  saw  it,  however,  and  timed  her  advance 
to  it  with  careful  exactitude. 

"  In  fact,  Morton  often  unconsciously  shames 
me,"  she  said.  "  He  does  not  let  any  thing 
stand  in  the  way  of  his  visits  to  you.  I  don't 
know  when  I  have  felt  as  much  ashamed  of  my- 
self and  my  own  neglect,  as  I  did  this  morning. 
I  saw  him  on  the  piazza  with  Irene  Vernon — 
have  you  ever  heard  him  speak  of  Irene  Ver- 
non ?  Ah,  she  is  such  a  charming  girl,  and  so 
lovely ! — Well,  he  had  been  there  for  some  time, 
when  suddenly  I  missed  him.  I  went  to  see 
what  had  become  of  him,  and  I  found  Miss  Ver- 
non alone.  Morton,  she  said,  had  received  a 
note  from  you,  and  left  instantly  to  obey  your 
summons — he  even  broke  an  engagement  to  ride 
with  her,  which  he  had  made  for  this  afternoon. 
My  dear  Pauline,  when  I  heard  this,  I  felt  abso- 
lutely rebuked.  Although  my  house  is  full  of 
company,  I  at  once  ordered  my  carriage.  I  was 
determined  not  to  let  the  hateful  thing  which  we 
call  society  keep  me  any  longer  from  coming  to 
see  you.  I  thought  I  would  follow  Morton,  and 
meet  the  dear  boy  here,  and  that,  after  we  had 
both  enjoyed  a  visit  to  you,  we  could  go  home 
together.  But  your  maid  tells  me  that  he  has 
been  here,  and  is  already  gone." 

"  Yes,  he  has  gone,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon. 

She  saw  the  object  of  Mrs.  Annesley's  visit 
clearly  enough  now — saw  it  so  clearly  that  all 
this  careful  fencing  amused  her  not  a  little. 
She  could  have  closed  with  her,  and  brought 


'  matters  to  an  issue,  very  speedily,  if  she  had 
chosen  to  do  so ;  but  she  contented  herself  with 
this  non-committal  reply,  and  left  her  visitor  to 
ahow  her  hand  by  force  of  necessity. 

"  It  is  strange  I  did  not  meet  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Annesley,  in  the  same  words  she  had  al- 
ready used  in  speaking  to  Babette.  "  lie  could 
not  surely  have  returned  to  Annesdale  ?  " 

An  accent  of  interrogation  made  this  a  direct 
question,  and,  as  such,  Mrs.  Gordon  answered  it. 

"  He  went  to  Tallahoma,  I  believe." 

"  Indeed  !  " 

A  pause  after  this.  Within  the  bounds  of 
civility,  how  could  Mrs.  Annesley  ask  the  ques- 
tion which  was  next  trembling  on  her  tongue ; 
and  yet,  how  was  it  possible  for  her  to  forbear 
asking  it  ?  Who  of  us  can  account  for  certain 
instincts  which  at  various  times  of  our  lives  in- 
fluence our  actions  in  greater  or  less  degree  ? 
Such  an  instinct  had  caused  her  to  follow  Mor- 
ton from  Annesdale,  and  such  an  instinct — now 
that  she  was  on  the  threshold  of  the  mattei 
which  had  brought  him  to  Mrs.  Gordon — made 
her  resolute  to  press  forward,  and  in  the  face 
of  civility  (or  of  any  thing  else)  learn  what  it 
was.  After  a  short  hesitation,  she  asked  the 
question : 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  Pauline,  if  I  appear 
curious,  but  was  it  on  your  business  that  he  went 
to  Tallahoma  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Mrs.  Gordon.  "  I 
have  no  business  in  Tallahoma." 

"  Then  you  do  not  know  why  he  went? " 

"  Yes,  I  chance  to  know  why  he  went." 

"  And  I  am  not  to  know,  I  suppose  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Annesley,  Hushing. 

Her  cousin  looked  at  her  gravely  and  silently 
for  a  minute,  before  she  replied. 

"  I  might  answer  that  it  is  Morton's  affair 
— not  mine,  Elinor,"  she  said.  "  But  since  it  is 
in  part  mine,  and  since  I  have  a  question  con- 
cerning it  to  ask  you,  I  shall  not  violate  Mor- 
ton's confidence  in  telling  you.  He  has  gone  to 
see  Miss  Tresham." 

Involuntarily,  Mrs.  Annesley  started  to  her 
feet,  and  made  a  step  toward  the  door. 

"  I  knew  it ! "  she  cried,  passionately,  "  I 
knew  it!  Something  warned  me  that  he  had 
gone  to  see  that — "  Here  she  stopped  sudden- 
ly, and  sat  down  again.  "I  am  a  fool,"  she 
said,  bitterly.  "  What  could  I  do,  if  I  followed 
him  ?  He  has  gone  his  own  way,  without  any 
regard  to  my  wishes.  How  could  I  prevent 
him,  if  I  tried,  from  doing  so  ?  " 

Her  cousin  came  over  to  her,  and,  strangely 


144 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


enough,  sat  down  by  her,  laying  one  hand  on 
her  arm. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  you  can  do — if  you 
care  to  hear,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Aunesley  drew  back.  The  instinct  of 
distrust  between  these  two  women  was  so  strong 
that  circumstances  could  hardly  be  imagined  in 
which  it  would  not  have  betrayed  itself. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  said.  ''  I  thought 
you  liked  this — this  girl ! " 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  quietly. 
"  I  did  like  her.  But  that  was  when  I  knew  very 
little  about  her.  Since  I  have  learned  more,  she 
is,  so  far  as  herself  is  concerned,  an  object  of 
indifference  to  me.  So  far  as  Morton  is  con- 
cerned, however,  she  is  an  object  of  distrust, 
and,  as  such,  to  be  dealt  with — as  summarily  as 
possible.  Elinor,  do  you  wish  Morton  to  marry 
her?" 

"  Can  you  ask  me  such  a  question  ?  " 

"Well,  I  have  tested  his  infatuation  thor- 
oughly, this  morning;  and  it  has  been  proof 
against  the  strongest  plea  that  I  could  urge. 
Yet  I  forced  him  to  concede  that  he  would  give 
her  up,  if  it  could  be  proved  that  she  was  un- 
worthy of  him.  If  you  wish  to  prevent  his 
marrying  her,  your  only  hope  is  to  prove  this." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley,  "  but  I 
have  tried  — "  She  paused  suddenly  here, 
caught  her  breath,  and  was  silent. 

"  You  have  tried  to  prove  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gor- 
don, quietly.  "  Well,  I  know  that.  What  I 
don't  know,  and  what  I  would  like  to  hear  is, 
how  you  succeeded." 

"I  did  not  succeed  at  all,"  answered  Mrs. 
Annesley,  coldly.  "  What  do  you  mean  when 
you  say  that  you  know  of  my  effort  ?  You  can- 
not possibly  know — any  thing." 

"  I  fancy  I  know  every  thing,  or  almost  every 
thing,"  replied  the  other,  with  the  same  compo- 
sure as  before.  "  Pray  tell  me,  Elinor,  did  you 
eyer  hear  of  a  Mr.  Henry  St.  John  ?  " 

The  shock  of  startled  surprise  caused  by  the 
question  was  unmistakable.  But  Mrs.  Annesley 
never  surrendered  without  a  struggle. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said. 

"  Don't  you  ? "  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  smiling 
slightly.  "  Perhaps  I  can  assist  your  memory 
by  asking  another  question,  then.  Do  you  re- 
member an  anonymous  letter  which,  by  way  of 
jest,  you  once  wrote  to  Edgar  Annesley  ?  " 

"  I— think  I  do." 

"  I  am  sure  you  must,  for  the  events  which 
followed  it  were  too  marked  to  be  readily  forgot- 
ten Well,  you  may  remember,  also,  that  I  read 


that  letter,  and  admired  the  ease  with  which  you 
wrote  a  hand  entirely  unlike  your  own.  It  ia 
twenty-four  years  since  I  saw  that  writing,  but 
the  consequences  arising  from  the  letter  stamped 
the  recollection  of  it  on  my  memory  ;  and  when 
a  letter — when  two  letters — were  shown  to  me 
this  morning,  I  recognized  the  hand  at  once. 
Now  will  you  tell  me  whether  you  ever  heard 
of  Mr.  St.  John  ?  " 

Mrs.  Annesley  saw  that  all  attempt  at  further 
concealment  was  useless.  However  much  or 
however  little  Mrs.  Gordon  knew,  it  was  at  least 
certain  that  she  knew  too  much  to  make  denial 
safe.  In  an  instant  she  remembered  the  man 
who  had  met  Miss  Tresham  in  the  grounds  of 
Annesdale,  and  what  had  been  before  merely  a 
suspicion  resolved  itself  at  once  into  a  certainty. 

"  I  have  heard  of  him,"  she  said — and  then 
she  added,  "  He  is  here  ! " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Gordon,  "  he  is  here. 
I  have  no  right  to  blame  you  for  the  means  you 
took  to  obtain  information  concerning  Miss 
Tresham ;  but  it  may  surprise  you  to  hear  that 
by  those  means  you  have  brought  upon  me  the 
curse  of  my  life — the  worst  enemy  I  have  ever 
had,  or  can  ever  expect  to  have  ! " 

"  Good  Heavens  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Annesley,  in 
amazement.  "  How  could  I  imagine — whom  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

The  answer  came  in  four  bitter  words  : 

"  I  mean  my  husband." 

"  Your  husband  ! " 

"  I  see  that  Morton  has  not  told  you  my 
story." 

"  Not  one  word,"  cried  Mrs.  Annesley,  eager- 
ly, forgetting  for  the  moment  every  thing  else, 
and  with  the  extreme  of  curiosity  painted  on 
her  face,  and  quivering  in  her  voice.  "  My  dear 
Pauline,"  she  went  on,  "  you  can  surely  trust  me 
— you  can  surely  confide  in  me ! " 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  necessity  to  tell  you  some- 
thing of  my  life,  Elinor,"  said  her  cousin,  coldly. 
"  Otherwise,  I  have  learned  that  it  is  wise  to 
'  confide '  in  nobody.  You  know  that  I  was  mar- 
ried. What  I  endured  in  my  married  life  it  is 
not  worth  while  to  tell  you.  I  did  endure  it  as 
long  as  endurance  was  possible.  When  it  be- 
came impossible,  I  fled  from  my  tyrant  and  came 
here,  hoping  to  find  rest  and  shelter  under  my 
father's  roof.  *How  long  I  might  have  remained 
undiscovered  I  do  not  know.  Not  long,  I  sus- 
pect. But,  however  that  may  be.  it  was  your 
act  which  brought  discovery  upon  me.  The 
advertisement,  which  you  inserted  in  the  Lon- 
don T\mes  before  I  came  here,  has  borne  bittei 


MRS.  GORDON'S   SUGGESTION. 


145 


fruit.  I  have  been  tracked  to  my  place  of 
refuge,  and  my  child  has  been  taken  from  me — 
perhaps  forever ! " 

"  Taken  from  you  !     By  whom  ?  " 

"  By  my  own  will.  I  have  sent  him  away, 
that  his  father  may  not  be  able  to  find  or  claim 
him." 

"  But  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley,  in  a  state  of  perplexity  which,  all  things 
considered,  was  very  natural.  "  Is  it  this  Mr. 
St.  John  who  is  your  husband  ?  " 

"  St.  John  !  Are  you  mad  ?  Have  you  ever 
seen  him  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  He  is  a  hanger-on  of  my  husband's — his 
secretary,  he  was  called — a  sort  of  instrument 
for  unprincipled  purposes.  Of  character  or 
position  he  has  not  even  the  shadow.  Where 
he  comes  from,  who  he  is,  or  what  he  is,  it  is 
impossible  to  say.  I  only  know  him  in  the 
position  of  which  I  have  spoken.  I  am  sure 
he  has  never  had  a  better  one." 

Mrs.  Annesley  looked  horror-stricken. 

"  And  it  was  this  man  who  wrote  to  me  as 
the  friend  or  relation  of  Miss  Tresham ! — it  is 
this  man  who  is  here  now  to  see  her ! " 

"  It  is  this  man." 

"  And  you — you  let  Morton  go  without  telling 
him  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  much  more  than  I  have  told  you, 
and  it  had  no  effect  upon  him.  Stop,  Elinor  " — 
as  Mrs.  Annesley,  in  uncontrollable  agitation, 
rose  to  her  feet — "  you  can  say  nothing  to  Mor- 
ton that  I  have  not  already  said.  We  have  no 
proof  of  any  thing  beyond  mere  acquaintance 
between  Miss  Tresharn  and  St.  John.  Think  a 
moment.  Did  his  reply  to  your  letter  contain 
nothing  more  ?  " 

"  I  don't  need  to  think,"  answered  Mrs. 
Annesley,  impatiently.  "  It  contained  not  one 
word.  Do  you  suppose  I  should  have  permitted 
matters  to  go  on  as  long  as  they  have  in  this 
way,  if  I  had  been  able  to  produce  a  word  of 
proof  against  her  ?  My  God  !  to  think  how  help- 
less I  am  ! "  said  she,  striking  her  hand  heavily 
on  the  end  of  the  sofa  near  which  she  sat.  "  To 
think  that  this  artful  creature  may  make  Mor- 
ton marry  her  any  day,  and  then  —  discovery 
would  come  too  late." 

"  Have  more  faith  in  Morton,"  said  her  com- 
panion, gravely.  "  Believe,  as  I  believe,  that  he 
will  not  take  any  extreme  step,  without  giving 
you  fair  warning.  In  the  mean  time,  you  must 
endeavor  to  find  out  something  about  Miss  Tresh- 


"  But  how  ?  " 

"  Do  I  need  to  tell  you  how  ?  Is  not  St 
John  here,  and  have  I  not  described  his  charac- 
ter ?  You  need  feel  no  delicacy  about  approach- 
ing him." 

"  But  this  is  more  difficult  than  you  think," 
said  Mrs.  Annesley,  hesitatingly.  "  Morton 
would  never  forgive  me  if  he  knew  of  such  a 
thing,  and  how  am  I  to  see  the  man  without  his 
knowing  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  simply  pointed  out  the  way,"  said 
Mrs.  Gordon.  "  The  means  I  leave  to  yourself." 

"  But  you — you  know  this  St.  John.  Could 
not  you — " 

"  No,"  answered  Mrs.  Gordon,  with  forbidding 
coldness.  "  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  see  or 
hold  any  communication  with  him." 

"  Not  even  for  Morton's  sake  ?  " 

"  Not  even  for  Morton's  sake." 

There  was  no  appeal  possible  from  that  de- 
cided tone.  Mrs.  Annesley  saw  that,  whether 
for  success  or  failure,  she  must  act  for  herself. 
After  a  minute's  consideration,  she  said : 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  shall  find  Mr.  St. 
John  ?  " 

"  It  is  probable  that  Babette  can,"  said  Mrs, 
Gordon,  ringing  the  bell. 

Babette  appeared,  and  proved  at  once  the 
accuracy  of  her  mistress's  judgment.  She  was 
able  to  gratify  Mrs.  Annesley  with  every  possi- 
ble particular  concerning  Mr.  St.  John ;  and, 
after  that  lady  had  heard  all  that  could  be  of 
service  to  her,  she  dismissed  her  informant,  and 
turned  to  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"  I  don't  see  my  way  at  all  clearly,  Pauline," 
she  said.  "  But  I  hope  you  will  remember  that 
I  am  acting  according  to  your  advice." 

"  According  to  my  suggestion,"  amended 
Mrs.  Gordon.  "  I  never  give  advice,  Elinor." 

"  If  Morton  discovers  it,  he  will  never  forgive 
me." 

"  If  you  are  so  much  afraid  of  Morton,  you 
had  better  let  him  go  his  own  way  without  inter- 
ference." 

In  reply  to  this,  Mrs.  Annesley  rose  from  her 
seat. 

"  One  word,  Pauline,"  she  said,  as  her  cousin 
rose  also.  "  Have  you  told  Morton  about  those 
letters  ?  " 

"  No  ;  why  should  I  ?  " 

"  You  will  not  do  so  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  the  least  intention  of  doing 
so." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley,  impulsive- 
ly. Then  she  added,  with  more  of  her  usual 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


manner:  "My  dear  Pauline,  no  words  can  say 
how  sorry  I  am  that  my  act  should  have  brought 
BO  much  annoyance  upon  you.  Can  you  possibly 
forgive  me  for  it  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,''  answered 
Mrs.  Gordon.  "  When  you  wrote  that  advertise- 
ment— last  summer,  was  it  not  ? — you  could  not 
possibly  have  thought  or  known  of  me.  Are  you 
going?" 

"  I  must.  It  is  getting  late,  and  I  fear  I 
shall  not  be  back  at  Annesdale  in  time  for  din- 
ner. I  will  come  to  see  you  soon  again.  Would 
you  advise — that  is,  would  you  suggest,  that  I 
should  offer  money  to  this  St.  John  ?  " 

"  I  can  only  say  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  hesitate  to  do  so." 

Mrs.  Annesley  repeated  her  thanks,  and  took 
leave.  Once  in  the  carriage,  she  looked  at  her 
watch  and  made  a  calculation  of  time,  with  refer- 
ence to  dinner.  Having  made  it,  she  pulled  the 
check  -  string  and  said  :  "  Tallahoma  —  Mrs. 
Marks's." 

Poor  Mrs.  Marks  had  not  recovered  from 
the  combined  effects  of  Morton's  visit,  and  her 
husband's  unusual  assertion  of  himself,  when 
this  new  astonishment  was  prepared  for  her. 
Having  seen  the  table  finally  cleared  off,  and 
having  rid  herself  of  the  children  by  dispatch- 
ing them  in  a  body  to  the  "  old  field,"  of  which 
mention  has  before  been  made,  she  sat  down 
with  a  very  heavy  heart,  to  darn  various  small 
stockings  full  of  various  large  holes.  As  she 
darned,  she  sighed;  and,  in  fact,  sighs  were 
more  frequent  than  stitches  with  her.  The 
kind  soul  was  lamenting  her  husband's  reso- 
lution, and  grieving  much  over  the  loss  of  her 
favorite,  "  Miss  Katharine."  She  even  shed  a 
few  tears,  and  wiped  them  away  with  the  leg  of 
Jack's  sock.  Impatient  thoughts  on  the  per- 
versity of  human  circumstances  came  to  her,  as 
they  had  come  to  Katharine  at  Annesdale,  as 
they  come  to  all  of  us  when  people  and  events 
prove  "  contrary."  Oh,  why  cannot  things  go 
right  ?  Why  cannot  people  act  as  they  ought 
to  ?  Why  cannot  circumstances  cease  to  fret, 
or  goad,  or  restrain  us  ?  What  is  the  reason 
that  every  thing  has  its  dash  of  bitterness,  and 
that  life  seems  to  vibrate,  like  the  pendulum  of 
a  clock,  continually,  between  the  painful  and  the 
disagreeable  ?  This  is  the  strain  of  thought  that 
is  going  up  to  heaven  on  the  wings  of  every 
minute,  like  the  oroken  cry  of  an  imprisoned 
spirit,  panting,  ah !  how  vair..y,  to  be  free. 
What  is  the  good  of  it  all?  Ah!  granted — 


what,  indeed,  is  the  good  of  it  all  ?  But  then, 
friends,  dwellers  upon  the  earth,  co-heirs  of  the 
curse  laid  on  Adam,  the  question  is,  not  what  is 
the  good  of  it,  but  how  are  we  to  help  it  ?  There 
is  but  one  way  known  to  men — the  way  of  child- 
like faith — and  few  of  us  are  great  enough,  01 
strong  enough,  to  follow  that. 

Mrs.  Marks  was  still  darning,  still  heaving 
sighs,  and  still  dropping  a  tear  or  two  occasion- 
ally, when  she  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  a 
knock  at  the  door.  The  dining-room  was  in  the 
back  part  of  the  house,  and  so  it  chanced  that 
she  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  the  arrival  of  the 
Annesley  carriage ;  so  it  chanced,  also,  that,  with 
her  work  in  her  hand,  she  went  out  to  answer  the 
knock,  and  found  herself  face  to  face  with  no  less 
a  person  than  Mrs.  Annesley. 

Her  consternation  was  almost  as  great  as  her 
surprise.  The  fear  of  something  additionally 
disagreeable — a  fear  vaguely  inspired  by  Mrs. 
Annesley's  face — instantly  seized  her.  Somehow 
or  other,  the  greeting  was  accomplished,  and 
Mrs.  Annesley  was  ushered  into  the  dining- 
room.  When  she  had  been  installed  in  the 
most  comfortable  chair,  and  Mrs.  Marks  was  sit- 
ting opposite,  with  her  darning  mechanically  re- 
tained in  her  hand,  a  tew  remarks  were  exchanged, 
and  then  the  visitor  opened  the  serious  business 
of  the  occasion. 

"  No  doubt,  you  are  surprised  to  see  me, 
Mrs.  Marks,"  she  said,  graciously.  "  In  fact,  I 
ought  to  apologize  for  such  a  startling  visit. 
But,  being  in  Tallahoma,  I  thought  I  would  stop 
for  a  few  minutes ;  and  I  also  thought  that  I 
might  find  Morton  here.  I  am  anxious  to  see 
him  on  a  matter  of  business  before  he  returns  to 
Annesdale." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  that  you  have  come  a  little 
too  late,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  with  the  utmost  sin- 
cerity. "  Mr.  Annesley  was  here,  but  he  left  a 
short  while  ago  ;  and  I  think  he  said  he  was  go- 
ing back  to  Annesdale." 

"  He  was  here,  and  left  only  a  short  while 
ago !  Oh,  how  provoking  ! "  said  Mrs.  Annesley. 
"  What  an  instance  of  my  bad  luck !  But 
pray,  Mrs.  Marks,  what  does  a  '  short  while ' 
mean  ?  Do  you  think,  for  instance,  that  I  could 
overtake  him  before  he  gets  home  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  I  am  sure  you  couldn't,"  said 
Mrs.  Marks,  with  decision.  "  It's  been  a  good 
hour  since  he  left,  and  he  must  have  reached  An- 
nesdale by  this  time — or,  indeed,  before  this.  He 
didn't  stay  long,"  she  went  on,  telling  of  her  own 
accord  the  very  thing  Mrs.  Annesley  was  anxious 
i  to  hear.  "  He  called  to  see  Miss  Tresham,  and. 


MRS.  GORDON'S   SUGGESTION. 


14? 


Miss  Trcsham  not  being  at  home,  he  left  very 
Boon." 

"  I  thought  Miss  Tresham  was  at  home," 
said  Mrs.  Annesley,  -a  little  stiffly.  "She  left 
Annesdale  this  morning." 

"  She  came  here  this  morning,"  said  Mrs. 
Marks,  in  an  aggrieved  tone,  "  but  she  is  gone 
now." 

"  Gone ! "  Mrs.  Annesley  simply  opened  her 
eyes.  It  could  not  be  possible  that  exposure  had 
come  so  soon,  and  come  of  itself?  "  Gone !  Ex- 
cuse me,  but  you  surprise  me  very  much.  I 
thought  she  came  back  to  recommence  teach- 
ing." 

"  She  went  to  Saxford  to-day,"  answered  Mrs. 
Marks,  unconsciously  lifting  the  stocking,  which 
she  still  held,  to  her  eyes,  from  which  one  or  two 
tears  were  drawn  forth  by  that  oft-repeated  state- 
ment. She  stood  extremely  in  awe  of  the  ele- 
gant mistress  of  Annesdale,  but  the  latter  was  a 
woman,  after  all,  and  she  had  dropped  in  to  pay 
a  sociable  visit,  and  Mrs.  Marks's  heart  was  sorely 
in  need  of  a  confidante,  and  so  she  began  to  open 
the  floodgates  of  her  feelings,  and  to  express  in 
words  what  she  had  heretofore  only  expressed  in 
sighs. 

"  She  went  to  Saxford,"  she  repeated — very 
much  as  she  might  have  said,  "  She  went  to  be 
buried  !  " — "  It  is  hard  on  me,  Mrs.  Annesley — it 
is  certainly  hard  on  me !  I  never  meddled  with 
Miss  Tresham's  affairs  in  my  life — I  never  said  a 
word,  either  to  her  or  to  anybody  else,  about 
them — and  yet  you'd  hardly  believe  all  the  trou- 
ble and  worry  that's  been  in  this  house  this  day — 
all  on  account  of  Miss  Tresham's  affairs,  and  Miss 
Tresham's  visitors,  and  because  Miss  Tresham 
has  taken  it  into  her  head  to  go  to  Saxford ! " 

"  But  why  has  she  gone  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  An- 
nesley, with  a  very  uncivil  disregard  of  Mrs. 
Marks's  personal  grievances. 

"  Everybody  asks  me  that,"  answered  Mrs. 
Marks,  "  and  Miss  Tresham  told  me  no  more 
about  why  she  was  going  than  she  told  my  little 
Nelly  playing  out  in  the  yard.  I  am  sure  it 
seemed  natural  enough  to  me  that  she  should  go 
— she  often  does  go  to  see  her  priest — but  every- 
body seems  surprised  about  it,  and  Mr.  Marks  is 
eo  provoked  that  he  says  if  she  don't  come  back 
on  Monday,  and  if  she  won't  explain  every  thing 
about  Mr.  St.  John,  she" —  second  application 
of  the  stocking  as  a  pocket-handkerchief — "  will 
have  to  leave  us." 

This  good  news  was  so  unexpected,  and  so 
startling,  that  for  a  minute  Mrs.  Annesley  scarce- 
ly realized  it.  Then  a  glow  of  satisfied  pleasure 


began  to  steal  over  her,  and  she  saw  how  well 
Fate  was  fighting  the  battle  of  which  she  had 
been  almost  ready  to  despair. 

"  Really,  you  astonish  me ! "  she  said.  "  I  had 
no  idea  of  any  thing  like  this.  Miss  Tresham  only 
left  my  house  this  morning,  and  now  to  have  gone 
away  so  unexpectedly — and,  you  say,  without  any 
explanation  ?  " 

"  Without  even  so  much  as  a  word  of  expla- 
nation," answered  Mrs.  Marks,  who  was  now 
fully  launched  into  her  theme.  "  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  have  said  something  to  her,  Mrs.  Annea- 
ley ;  but  my  head  was  quite  upset — and  then  she 
was  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  to  the  hotel  before  the 
stage  left  that  she  didn't  give  me  time  hardly  to 
breathe.  I'm  sure  I  didn't  pay  any  attention  to 
what  Mrs.  Gordon  said  about  her — I  mean" — 
hastily  correcting  herself  with  a  timely  recollec- 
tion that  Mrs.  Gordon  was  Mrs.  Annesley's  cousin 
— "  that  I  felt  confident  there  was  some  mistake 
— but  it  seems  to  me  all  the  same,  that  Misa 
Katharine  might  have  told  me  something  before 
she  left,  so  that  I  could  have  explained  it  to 
Richard.  But  she  never  said  a  word." 

"  Nothing  about  Mr.  St.  John  ?  " 

"  Not  a  syllable." 

"  How  extremely  singular ! "  said  Mrs.  An- 
nesley, very  slowly  and  very  gravely — so  gravely 
that  Mrs.  Marks  began  to  feel  as  if  she  had  much 
underrated  the  importance  of  Miss  Tresham's 
reticence,  and  Miss  Tresham's  departure.  It 
was  astonishing  how  infinitely  more  Mrs.  An- 
nesley's opinion  on  the  subject  weighed  with  her, 
than  that  of  her  husband  had  done ! 

"  It  was  strange,"  she  said,  "  though  I  didn't 
think  of  it  at  the  time.  Miss  Katharine  is  so 
nice,  Mrs.  Annesley,  and  we  are  all  so  fond  of  her, 
that  somehow  it  never  struck  me  that — that,  as 
you  say,  it  was  singular  for  her  to  give  no  expla- 
nation about  Mr.  St.  John." 

"  Perhaps  he  may  be  related  to  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Annesley,  carelessly — she  began  to  be  aware 
that  she  had  betrayed  more  interest  than  it  was 
proper  to  show  in  Miss  Tresham's  affairs — "  your 
governess  herself  is  a  very  lady-like  person  ;  but 
people  in  her  position  often  have  very  disreputa- 
ble relations,  you  know." 

"  Mr.  St.  John  is  very  much  of  a  gentleman, 
indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  greatly  astonished. 
"  I  am  sure  nobody  could  say  that  there  is  any 
thing  disreputable  about  him.  But  I  don't  think 
he  is  any  relation  of  Miss  Katharine's ;  that  is  " 
— a  short  pause — "  I  really  don't  know.  I  never 
heard  her  say  that  she  had  any  relations." 

Mrs.  Aunesley  knew  this  before,  but  none  th« 


148 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


less  did  she  think  it  necessary  to  look  as  much 
shocked  as  if  she  heard  tae  statement  for  the 
first  tune. 

"  No  relations ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  A  girl  of 
her  age !  Why,  that  is  dreadful  1  Really,  Mrs. 
Marks,  you  must  excuse  me  if  I  say  that  I  won- 
der very  much  at  your  courage  in  engaging  such 
a  person  to  enter  your  house  aud  teach  your  chil- 
dren," 

By  way  of  reply,  Mrs.  Marks  only  stared.  It 
had  yet  to  dawn  upon  her  comprehension  that 
the  misfortune  of  having  no  relations  could  pos- 
sibly be  made  a  social  crime. 

"  It  is  hard  on  a  young  thing  like  Miss  Kath- 
arine"— she  began,  when  Mrs.  Anuesley  inter- 
rupted her  in  her  grandest  way. 

"It  is  not  of  Miss  Tresham  I  am  talking, 
Mrs.  Marks,  but  of  her  position.  Of  course,  it  is 
only  reasonable  that  when  a  girl  of  her  age,  and 
I  suppose  I  may  say  of  her  refined  appearance, 
talks  of  having  no  relations,  she  simply  means 
one  of  two  things — either  that  her  relations  do 
not  acknowledge  her,  or  else  that  they  are  them- 
selves not  fit  to  be  acknowledged.  In  either 
case,  as  I  remarked  before,  I  think  you  must 
possess  a  great  deal  of  courage  to  admit  her  to 
your  family  as  you  have  done,  and  to  be  willing 
to  trust  her  as  you  seem  disposed  to  do.  For 
my  part;  I  confess  that  I  should  shudder  to  think 
of  assuming  such  a  responsibility ;  but  then  my 
conscience  is  very  sensitive." 

"She  was  so  nice,"  said  Mrs.  Marks,  deprecat- 
ingly,  much  impressed  by  this  forcible  view  of  the 
matter,  and  much  aghast  at  being  brought  in 
guilty,  by  implication  at  least,  of  a  callous  con- 
science. 

"  So  nice ! "  repeated  Mrs.  Annesley,  in  a 
tone  of  overpowering  scorn.  She  forgot  herself 
and  her  part,  for  a  moment,  and  let  the  real  ear- 
nestness which  she  felt  come  to  the  surface,  as 
the  thought  rushed  over  her  that  all  the  trouble 
now  weighing  upon  her,  all  the  fear  that  had 
made  her  life  wretched  for  months  past,  resulted 
from  the  act  of  this  woman — this  woman  so  far 
out  of  her  life,  so  apart  from  all  her  associations. 
She  had  scarcely  done  more  than  bow  to  Mrs. 
Marks  when  they  chanced  to  meet,  once  a  year 
»r  BO,  on  the  village  street,  and  yet  the  fateful 
sisters  had  thrown  their  shuttle,  and  across  the 
warp  and  woof  of  her  own  life  had  woven  the 
threads  of  this  other  homely  existence.  Common 
as  such  things  are,  when  they  come  home  to  us 
as  they  came  home  to  her,  it  is  hard  not  to  feel 
startled  by  them — hard  to  realize  that  they  form 
the  daily  history  of  that  which  we  call  circum- 


stance !  Two  strangers  met  by  chance  in  the 
parlor  of  that  Charleston  hotel ;  the  girl's  face 
brightened  into  a  winning  smile,  and  the  elder 
woman's  heart  was  touched ;  a  few  words  were 
said,  and  lo !  the  whole  current  of  life  was 
changed,  not  only  for  them,  but  for  others  then 
scattered  in  widely-different  corners  of  the  civil- 
ized world,  then  going  each  his  different  way, 
laughing,  talking,  smiling,  weeping,  perhaps,  and 
knowing  not  what  had  been  done — knowing  not 
that,  on  a  single  breath,  as  it  were,  every  aim 
and  purpose  of  existence  had  been  staked  and 
changed — for  better  or  worse,  who  could  tell  ? 
Surely  only  He  of  whom  it  is  well  to  think  in  th'e 
midst  of  such  reflections  as  these — He  who  draws 
us  each  into  our  appointed  path,  and  does  not 
leave  us  to  be  the  blind  victims  of  a  merciless 
Chance. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mrs.  Annesley, 
recovering  herself  with  a  faint,  forced  laugh.  "  I 
suppose,  of  course,  you  think  Miss  Tresham  nice, 
but  I  was  really  unable  to  discover  her  attrac- 
tions. What  a  beautiful  view  this  room  has ! 
Do  you  cultivate  your  garden  much  ?  " 

She  rose  and  walked  to  the  window.  Well 
disciplined  as  she  was,  and  thoroughly  accus- 
tomed to  self-control,  she  could  not  have  sat  still 
a  moment  longer  and  face  the  woman  who  had 
brought  all  this  anxiety  and  possible  grief  upou 
her.  An  outbreak  of  some  sort  must  have  come, 
and  she  wisely  prevented  it  by  walking  away  and 
gazing  absently  into  the  garden,  while  Mrs.  Marks 
willingly  forsook  the  subject  of  Miss  Tresham 
for  that  of  her  celery  and  winter  lettuce. 

As  she  talked,  Mrs.  Annesley's  fertile  brain 
ran  over  expedient  after  expedient  for  seeing 
St.  John,  and  dismissed  each  as  impracticable. 
How  was  she  to  do  it  ? — how  was  she  to  do  it  ? 

This  was  the  accompaniment  in  her  brain  to 
Mrs.  Marks's  conversation.  Yet  she  was  as  far 
as  ever  from  the  solution  of  her  difficulty,  and 
she  almost  began  to  despair  of  its  accomplish- 
ment, when  she  accidentally  caught  sight  of  a 
man's  head  above  a  rose-bush  in  the  garden.  In 
a  second,  she  felt  sure  that,  by  some  strange  co- 
incidence, her  opportunity  was  here,  ready  to  her 
hand — that  St.  John  stood  before  her. 

She  did  not  stop  to  consider  why  she  knew 
that  it  was  he,  she  did  not  think  for  a  moment 
how  he  came  there.  She  only  felt,  by  a  strange, 
intuitive  thrill,  that  her  desire  was  gratified  more 
speedily  and  more  completely  than  she  could  pos- 
sibly have  hoped  for  it  to  be,  and  that,  come 
what  would,  she  must  seize  the  fortunate  oppor- 
tunity. 


ON   GUARD. 


149 


Yet  how  could  she  escape  ?  how  get  rid  of 
Mrs.  Marks  ?  That  became  as  great  a  difficulty 
now  as  the  means  of  meeting  St.  John  had  been 
before.  As  she  asked  herself  the  question,  how- 
ever, she  saw  that  there  was  no  need  of  imme- 
diate haste.  Plainly,  St.  John  had  entered  the 
garden  to  bide  his  time,  and  plainly  he  meant  to 
wait  till  that  time  came.  His  head  had  now  dis- 
appeared from  above  the  rose-bush,  but  Mrs. 
Annesley  marked  the  place  where  she  had  seen 
it,  and  a  thin,  pale  wreath  of  smoke,  which  now 
and  then  floated  up,  sufficiently  indicated  his 
present  position,  and  sufficiently  proved  how  he 
was  whiling  away  the  period  of  waiting. 

"  What  is  he  waiting  for  ?  "  Mrs.  Annesley 
began  to  consider.  "  Is  it  Miss  Trtsham,  or  is 
it  to  come  in  and  see  Mrs.  Marks  ? — Ah  ! " — as 
a  sudden  recollection  flashed  over  her — "  it  is  for 
me  to  leave.  He  sees  the  carriage  before  the 
gate,  of  course,  and  he  has  decided  to  remain  in 
the  garden  and  smoke  a  cigar  until  the  coast  is 
clear.  There  could  not  possibly  be  a  better  op- 
portunity for  seeing  him,  if  only  I  could  get  rid 
of  this  horrid  woman !  But  how  on  earth  am  I 
to  do  that  ?  " 

How,  indeed  !  For,  while  the  blue  smoke 
floated  pensively  over  the  rose-bushes,  and  while 
Mrs.  Annesley  could  scarcely  keep  her  impatient 
hand  from  the  latch  of  the  door  near  which  she 
•tood,  Mrs.  Marks  steadily  held  her  ground,  and 
steadily  poured  forth  her  flow  of  language  with  a 
profound  unconsciousness  that  seemed  as  if  it 
could  be  shaken  by  nothing  less  than  a  moral 
earthquake. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

ON    GUARD. 

SUDDENLY  the  ill-matched  companions  were 
startled  by  a  terrible  uproar  in  the  back  yard 
— the  deep,  angry  growl  of  a  dog  was  followed 
by  the  scampering  rush  of  two  animals  in  a 
short,  mad  chase,  and  then  the  cries  of  inarticu- 
late distress,  which  dumb  beasts  can  occasion- 
ally utter  in  their  own  behalf,  fell  painfully  on 
the  ear.  Mingled  with  these  came  a  Babel  of 
sound — men  shouting,  women  running,  cries, 
commands,  and  undistinguishable  confusion — in 
the  midst  of  which  a  panting  little  negro  rushed 
to  the  dining-room  door. 

"  Mistiss,  Rollo's  caught  the  calf,  and  Uncle 
Jake  says  as  how  he's  goin'  to  tar  it  to  pieces  !  " 

"  Good  Gracious !  "  cried  Mrs.  Marks,  in  con- 


sternation. "  What  did  he  let  the  dog  catch  it 
for  1  What  will  your  master  say  !  Tell  him  to 
beat  him — do  any  thing  to  make  him  let  go  !  I 
always  told  Mr.  Marks  he  better  not  bring  that 
bull-dog  here,"  she  added,  as  the  child  darted 
away.  "  I  knew  he  was  sure  to  do  mischief — 
Goodness  !  what  awful  sounds  ! — Mrs.  Annesley, 
if  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll — " 

The  sentence  was  not  finished,  and  Mrs.  An- 
nesley had  no  opportunity  to  reply.  The  up- 
roar grew  worse,  and  Mrs.  Marks  followed  the 
example  of  the  rest  of  the  household — she  flew 
to  the  scene  of  action. 

If  the  victim  of  Rollo's  unreasoning  fury  had 
been  a  child  instead  of  a  calf,  it  is  to  be  feared 
that  Mrs.  Annesley  would  equally  have  regarded 
the  episode  in  the  light  of  a  fortunate  and  provi- 
dential relief.  The  instant  that  the  last  flutter 
of  Mrs.  Marks's  dress  had  vanished  down  the 
passage,  she  opened  the  door  that  led  out  upon 
the  side-piazza,  crossed  it,  and  the  next  moment 
was  walking  rapidly  down  the  garden-path. 

She  was  so  lightly  and  delicately  shod  that 
her  step  made  very  little  sound  on  the  smooth 
gravel,  and  St.  John,  who  was  comfortably  smok- 
ing his  cigar  in  a  sheltered  nook — waiting,  as 
Mrs.  Annesley  had  shrewdly  suspected,  for  the 
departure  of  the  carriage — was  completely  taken 
by  surprise  when,  without  any  warning,  this  ele- 
gant figure  stood  before  him. 

Instinctively  he  took  the  cigar  from  his  lips, 
and  rose  to  his  feet.  This  was  not  Mrs.  Marks, 
but  none  the  less  was  it  somebody  much  more 
at  home  in  the  garden  than  he  had  any  right  to 
be.  Therefore,  the  first  words  that  formed  on 
his  lips  were  words  of  apology  for  his  presence 
there. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said.  "  I  fear  I  am  a  tres- 
passer ;  but  I  am  waiting  to  see  Mrs.  Marks." 

Mrs.  Annesley  bowed  graciously,  and,  instead 
of  retreating,  swept  a  step  nearer. 

"  Mrs.  Marks  is  occupied  just  now,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  came  out  to  look  at  the  garden.  Don't 
disturb  yourself,  I  beg.  I  shall  not  interrupt 
you.  Mr.  Marks  told  me  something  about  a  new 
perennial,"  added  she,  glancing  round.  "  Don't 
let  me  trouble  you,  but  pray  do  you  chance  to 
know  where  it  is  ?  " 

St.  John  smiled,  and  replied  in  the  nega- 
tive. 

"  I  am  a  stranger,"  he  said,  "  and  this  is  the 
first  time  I  have  ever  ventured  to  invade  Mrs. 
Marks's  garden.  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  tell 
you  any  thing  about  the  perennial." 

"  You  have  no  idea  where  it  is  ?  " 


150 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"  I  hare  not  the  least  idea  where  it  is." 

Mrs.  Annesley  gave  a  little  sigh  of  resigna- 
tion. 

"  Such  a  pity  ! "  she  said,  and,  as  she  said  it, 
she  ran  her  eye  with  apparent  carelessness,  but 
with  really  keen  attention,  over  St.  John's  per- 
son. 

The  result  of  her  observation  was  discour- 
aging. Despite  all  that  Mrs.  Gordon  had  told 
her,  and  despite  her  own  distrust  of  the  man, 
she  could  not  believe  that  it  would  be  expedient 
or  even  possible  to  approach  him  with  any  over- 
tures of  bribery.  Adventurer  though  he  was — 
sharper  though  he  might  be — he  at  least  bore 
all  the  outward  semblance  of  a  gentleman  ;  and, 
as  he  stood  before  her — perfectly  self-possessed, 
notwithstanding  the  equivocal  position  which  he 
occupied,  and  lightly  holding  his  cigar  between 
two  fingers  as  he  returned  her  scrutiny — she  felt 
as  much  at  a  loss  how  to  address  him  as  she  had 
before  felt  at  a  loss  how  to  reach  him.  It  was 
hardly  wonderful.  This  man  was  so  different — in 
every  particular  so  essentially  different — from  the 
man  her  fancy  had  created,  that  the  discrepancy 
in  itself  startled  her. 

As  she  hesitated,  St.  John,  on  his  side,  had 
time  for  observation  and  consideration.  The 
perennial  excuse  had  not  deceived  him.  He  had 
•een  at  a  glance  that  this  fine  lady — whoever  or 
whatever  she  might  be — had  come  into  the  gar- 
den to  meet  himself.  At  first  he  had  supposed 
that  her  motive  might  have  been  one  of  mere 
curiosity ;  but,  as  she  still  kept  her  place  in  front 
of  him,  as  he  felt  her  keen  black  eyes  reading 
his  face,  and,  as  he  saw  the  doubt  unconsciously 
stamped  upon  her  own  face,  an  instinct  of  her 
real  purpose  came  over  him. 

"  There  is  something  she  wants  to  get  out  of 
me,"  he  thought.  "  Well,  let  her  try.  It  will 
be  strange  if  in  the  end  I  don't  succeed  in  get- 
ting considerably  more  out  of  her  than  she  thinks 
of  or  bargains  for  ! " 

"  Perhaps  there  is  something  else  I  can  do 
for  you,"  he  said,  as  she  remained  silent  for  some 
time.  , 

Mrs.  Annesley  started  a  little,  and  recovered 
herself. 

"  There  is  nothing,  thank  you,"  she  said. 
11 1  won't  disturb  you  any  longer.  Good-day." 

She  bowed  slightly,  and  walked  away — three 
steps.  Then  she  paused,  and,  turning  back, 
spoke  again. 

"  Perhaps  there  is  something  I  can  do  for 
you,"  she  said.  "Am  I  not  right  in  supposing 
tbit  it  has  been  my  presence  which  has  kept 


you  from  seeing  Mrs.  Marks  ?  Shall  I  be  obli- 
ging, and  take  my  departure  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  presume  to  ask  such  a  thing," 
answered  he,  bowing  gravely. 

"  It  would  not  be  very  much  of  a  presump- 
tion," answered  Mrs.  Annesley,  smiling  gracious- 
ly. "  A  friend  of  Mrs.  Marks — you  are  a  friend 
of  Mrs.  Marks,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  scarcely  think  it  probable  that  Mrs. 
Marks  would  allow  me  to  claim  that  honor." 

Mrs.  Annesley  arched  her  eyebrows  and 
looked  around  the  garden.  Plainly  she  meant 
to  say,  "  Not  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Marks,  and  yet 
here ! " 

The  coolness  of  the  glance  amused  St.  John, 
and  he  answered  it  more  on  account  of  this 
amusement  than  because  there  was  any  absolute 
necessity  for  doing  so. 

"  Under  these  circumstances,  you  are  sur- 
prised to  see  me  here  ?  "  he  said.  "  But  I  think 
that,  when  I  explain  the  reason  of  my  presence 
to  Mrs.  Marks,  she  will  not  regard  my  intrusion 
as  unpardonable." 

"  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Marks  is  always  glad  to  re- 
ceive Miss  Tresham's  friends,"  said  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley, using  the  very  words  which  Mrs.  Marks  her- 
self had  used  that  morning — the  words  which 
had  encouraged  St.  John  to  return  and  endeavor 
to  learn  from  her  something  more  than  he  had 
been  able  to  glean  from  her  husband.  The  coin- 
cidence struck  him,  and,  together  with  the  un- 
suspected sound  of  Katharine's  name,  made  him 
look  sharply  at  the  speaker. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  under- 
stand." 

But,  as  it  happened,  Mrs.  Annesley  had  grown 
tired  of  this  aimless  fencing ;  and,  besides,  she 
had  not  time  for  it.  At  any  moment  Mrs.  Marks 
might  come  in  search  of  her,  and  the  opportunity 
she  had  been  so  anxious  to  secure  would  thus  be 
hopelessly  lost.  Making  a  rapid  calculation  for 
and  against  success,  she  decided  to  close  at  once 
with  her  slippery  opponent. 

"  Excuse  me"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  " I 
fancied  that  I  was  speaking  to  Mr.  St.  John." 

The  smile  told  St.  John  infinitely  more  than 
the  words.  There  was  a  shade  of  malicious 
meaning  in  it,  which,  under  the  circumstances, 
was  far  from  wise,  but  which  Mrs.  Annesley 
would  have  found  it  hard  to  control.  It  was  so 
pleasant  to  turn  the  tables  on  him  in  this  style- 
so  pleasant  to  show  him,  in  three  words,  how 
well  she  knew  every  thing  about  him !  But  still, 
it  was  a  blunder.  It  put  St.  John  on  his  guard, 
and  it  made  him  set  his  teeth  and  think :  "  Con. 


ON   GUARD. 


151 


found  the  woman !  What  deviltry  has  she  got 
in  her  head  ?  "  It  galled  him,  too ;  but  he  had 
a  very  good  armory  of  his  own  at  command,  and 
from  it  he  immediately  selected  his  favorite 
weapon  of  covert  mockery. 

"  I  am  deeply  flattered,"  he  said,  with  a  bow. 
'  I  had  no  idea  that  my  name  had  been  fortu- 
nate enough  to  attain  any  degree  of  notoriety. 
I  do  not  think  that  I  have  the  pleasure  of  an  ac- 
quaintance with  yourself,  madam." 

"  You  have  probably  never  heard  of  me," 
said  Mrs.  Annesley,  quietly.  "  I  am  a  person  of 
no  consequence  whatever — out  of  my  own  fam- 
ily. It  has  merely  chanced  that  I  have  heard 
of  you,"  she  went  on.  "Mrs.  Marks  is  very 
much  attached  to  Miss  Tresham,  and,  in  speak- 
ing of  her,  she  mentioned  your  name  to  me.  I 
also  am  a  friend  of  Miss  Tresham's,"  said  the 
mistress  of  Annesdale,  with  a  virtuous  expres- 
sion of  face,  "  and  as  such,  I  am  glad  to  meet 
you — glad  to  be  able  to  say  a  few  words  to  you,  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  do  so." 

"  I  am  at  your  service." 

"  Let  us  sit  down,  then.  Since  you  are  kind 
enough  not  to  consider  me  impertinent,  I  should 
like  to  be  very  frank  with  you.  I  am  generally 
frank  with  everybody.  Experience  has  shown 
me  that  it  is  so  much  the  best  way." 

They  sat  down.  Just  behind  the  short  bench 
from  which  St.  John  had  risen,  was  a  wall  of 
running  ivy ;  on  each  side  rose  tall  shrubs,  which, 
although  bare,  still  made  a  seclusion  of  the  little 
nook.  Regarded  from  a  short  distance,  the  two 
figures,  who  had  the  nook  to  themselves,  might 
easily  have  passed  for  a  pair  of  lovers.  Consid- 
ered as  they  actually  were,  they  much  more  re- 
sembled two  adroit  chess-players,  who  sat  down 
equally  matched  to  a  game  in  which  skill  and 
care  could  alone  determine  the  result.  Mrs.  An- 
nesley made  the  first  move — St.  John  contenting 
himself  with  keen  watchfulness  and  attention. 

Said  the  lady  :  "  I  must  begin  what  I  have  to 
say,  by  explaining  why  I  say  it.  I  know  Miss 
Tresham  quite  well,  and" — a  gulp — "like  her 
very  much.  You  can  imagine  my  surprise,  there- 
fore, when  I  heard  from  Mrs.  Marks  that  she  has 
left  her  late  home  in  a  very  sudden  and  myste- 
rious manner,  and  that  it  is  more  than  doubtful 
whether  she  will  be  received  again  when  she  re- 
turns." 

St.  John  started.  This  was  certainly  news  to 
him.  Mrs.  Annesley  noted  the  start,  and  went 
on: 

"  I  think  it  right  to  tell  you,  Mr.  St.  John, 
that  the  grounl  on  which  Miss  Tresham  will  be 


dismissed  from  Mrs.  Marks's  house  when  she  re- 
turns, is  that  of  her  connection  with  yourself. 
Mr.  Marks  has  finally  decided  that  unless  a  satis- 
factory explanation  of  this  connection  is  given,  he 
cannot  retain  Miss  Tresham  as  a  governess. 
Now,  as  a  friend  of  Miss  Tresham's,  will  you 
allow  me  to  ask  if  it  does  not  occur  to  you  that 
it  is  your  duty  to  remove  the  cloud  from  Misa 
Tresham's  name  by  at  once  making  this  explana- 
tion ?  " 

"  You  have  set  me  an  admirable  example  of 
candor,  madam,"  said  St.  John.  "Do  not  be 
offended  if  I  follow  it,  and,  imitating  your  frank- 
ness, ask  if  it  does  not  occur  to  you  that  it  ia 
quite  impossible  for  you  to  judge  of  the  affaira 
of  people  who  are  strangers  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  had  explained  that  Miss  Tresham 
is  not  a  stranger  to  me." 

"  Evidently  she  is  a  stranger  so  far  as  re- 
gards her  confidence,  or  else  you  would  not  need 
to  make  this  appeal  to  me." 

"  You  do  not  intend  to  heed  the  appeal, 
then  ?  " 

"  Imitating  your  frankness  again,  I  must  de- 
cline to  answer  that  question." 

"  Because  I  am  not  personally  concerned  in 
the  matter  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Annesley,  resolutely 
resolved  to  keep  her  temper  under  any  provo- 
cation. 

"  Yes — because  I  am  unable  to  perceive  that 
you  have  any  personal  interest  in  the  matter." 

"  Suppose  that  I  assume — that,  if  necessary, 
I  am  willing  to  prove  to  you — that  I  have  an  in- 
terest in  the  matter,  that  I  have  a  personal  rea- 
son for  wishing  to  clear  up  the  mystery  around 
Miss  Tresham,  will  you  still  refuse  to  give  me 
the  explanation  V  " 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  I  am  compelled  to  do 
so." 

"  Do  you  not  take  Miss  Tresham  herself  into 
consideration — her  character  ?  Do  you  not  ap- 
preciate how  badly  this  reticence  looks  —  for 
her  ?  " 

St.  John  only  smiled.  Evidently,  if  it  had 
been  courteous  to  do  so,  he  would  have  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  said,  "  What  is  that  to  me  ?  " 
As  it  was,  his  face  said  it  for  him,  and  Mrs.  An- 
nesley read  his  face.  That  instant  she  shifted 
her  ground. 

"  I  am  anxious  to  obtain  certain  items  of  in- 
formation about  Miss  Tresham,"  she  said ;  "  itema 
which  can  harm  neither  her  nor  any  one  else.  Do 
you  know  any  one  who,  for  a  liberal  reward,  would 
show  me  how  to  obtain  these  ?  " 

She  looked  steadily  at  St.  John,  and  St.  John 


152 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


returned  her  gaze  without  the  quiver  of  an  eye- 
lash. 

"  I  do  not  know  any  one  whom  you  could 
employ  for  such  a  purpose,"  he  answered. 

"No  one  at  all?" 

"No  one  at  all." 

Mrs.  Annesley  rose  from  her  seat,  and  drew 
her  shawl  gracefully  around  her. 

"  It  is  growing  chilly,"  she  said,  "  I  must  go 
in.  I  regret  to  have  disturbed  you,  Mr.  St.  John. 
Pray,  don't  let  me  disturb  you  further — pray, 
don't  get  up.  I  suppose  it  is  quite  useless  to 
look  for  that  perennial.  Good-day." 

A  bow  on  both  sides,  and  they  separated. 
The  worsted  player  retired  with  all  the  dig- 
nity she  could  summon  to  her  aid ;  but,  as  she 
swept  slowly  down  the  garden-walk,  she  struck 
one  gloved  hand  angrily  against  the  other. 

"  I  went  to  work  wrong,"  she  thought. 
"  Some  way  or  other,  I  went  to  work  wrong ! 
The  consequence  is,  that  this  wretch  has  com- 
pletely baffled  me,  and  that  I  am  not  an  inch 
nearer  to  my  end  than  I  was  before." 

As  for  St.  John,  the  first  thing  he  did,  when 
he  was  alone,  was  to  relight  his  cigar,  and  the 
second  was  to  indulge  in  a  laugh  of  properly-sub- 
dued tone. 

"  Oh,  these  women  !  these  women  ! "  he  said 
to  himself.  "  How  is  it  that  the  devil  teaches 
them  so  much  cunning,  and  yet  lets  them  over- 
reach themselves  so  completely  ?  Well " — with 
a  long  puff — "  this  has  certainly  been  something 
that  I  did  not  bargain  for — a  little  dash  of  in- 
trigue that  I  did  not  expect  in  coming  to  look 
up  my  respectable  friend  who  asks  me  to  tea. 
I  fancy  Mrs.  Gordon  is  not  the  only  person  now 
who  has  discovered  the  identity  of  R.  G.  After 
this,  I  can  put  my  hand  on  the  writer  of  the 
advertisement  and  the  letters  whenever  I  choose. 
I  have  two  things  yet  to  find  out,  however — first, 
her  name ;  and,  secondly,  her  motive." 

A  thought  struck  him.  He  rose  from  his 
seat,  walked  to  the  garden-gate,  let  himself  out, 
and  sauntered  down  the  road  to  where  Mrs.  An- 
nesley's  carriage  Btood,  with  Mrs.  Annesley's 
coachman  and  footman  in  attendance.  Stopping 
to  admire  the  horses,  he  easily  fell  into  conver- 
sation with  the  servants,  and  in  five  minutes  had 
learned  evejry'thing  that  he  wished  to  know.  No 
human  being  was  ever  so  fond  of  boasting  as  the 
family-negro  of  the  old  regime,  and  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley's servants  were  no  exception  to  the  general 
rule.  No  sooner  was  it  evident  that  St.  John 
was  a  stranger,  than  their  tongues  were  loosed 
on  the  glories  of  Aunesdale  and  of  the  Annesley 


family.  Mistiss  and  mistiss's  various  sp.eudors, 
Mass  Morton,  and  Mass  Morton's  horses  and 
dogs,  were  the  favorite  topics — the  last  espe- 
cially ;  and  St.  John,  who  never  forgot  any  thing, 
had  no  difficulty  in  identifying  this  much  vaunted 
"  Mass  Morton  "  with  the  Mr.  Annesley  whom  he 
had  met  in  the  grounds  of  Annesdale.  Every 
thing  was  so  clear  to  him  that  he  could  have 
laughed  to  himself  as  he  stood  on  the  sidewalk 
smoking  his  cigar,  and  listening  lazily,  as  John 
and  Peyton  by  turns  descanted  on  the  absorb- 
ing subject.  It  was  quite  a  shock  to  Mrs.  An- 
nesley when  she  came  out  and  found  him  there. 

"  Mr.  St.  John ! "  she  said,  haughtily,  and 
drew  back  as  he  came  forward  with  the  mani- 
fest intention  of  assisting  her  into  the  car- 
riage. 

"  I  have  been  admiring  your  horses,  Mrs. 
Annesley,"  said  St.  John,  smiling.  "  They  do 
credit  to  your  taste.  Will  you  allow  me  ?  " 

On  second  thoughts,  she  allowed  him  to  put 
her  into  the  carriage ;  and,  when  she  was  seated, 
looked  up  and  spoke. 

"  If  you  will  take  my  advice,  you  will  con- 
sider what  I  said  to  you  a  short  time  ago.  It 
might  be  worth  your  while.  I  need  not  tell  you 
where  you  will  find  me  if  you  desire  to  communi- 
cate with  me." 

He  bowed — making  no  other  answer  to  the 
covert  sneer  in  her  last  words — and,  as  he 
stepped  from  the  door,  the  carriage  drove  off. 

When  it  was  out  of  sight,  he  turned,  and, 
opening  the  gate,  walked  up  to  the  house.  Mrs. 
Marks  had  accompanied  Mrs.  Annesley  to  the 
front  piazza,  and  was  still  standing  there  when 
he  approached.  In  the  first  sound  of  her  voice, 
in  the  first  word  which  she  spoke,  he  saw  that  a 
change  had  come  over  her — that  she  had  been 
placed  on  guard  against  him.  She  answered  his 
questions  courteously ;  but  there  was  none  of 
the  hearty  cordiality  of  the  morning  in  her  man- 
ner, and  she  did  not  ask  him  to  enter  the  house. 
After  finding  that  her  ignorance  about  Katharine 
was  quite  as  complete  as  it  had  been  represented, 
he  had  no  alternative  but  to  take  his  leave.  Be- 
fore doing  so,  however,  he  received  a  piece  of 
information  which  startled  him  a  little.  He 
thought  that  it  might  be  as  well  to  verify  on  in- 
disputable evidence  the  facts  which  the  servants 
had  given  him,  \»d  so  he  said,  carelessly : 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  inquire  if  the  Mrs. 
Annesley  who  has  just  left  is  related  to  the 
*  young  gentleman  of  the  same  name  whom  I  saw 
here  a  few  hours  ago  ?  " 

"  She  is  his  mother,"  answered  Mrs,  Marks — 


THE   SICK   LADY. 


153 


adding,  involuntarily,  "  and  the  cousin  of  Mrs. 
Gordon." 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  St.  John,  starting  quickly. 

After  this,  he  asked  no  more  questions,  but 
made  his  apologies,  and  took  his  leave  almost 
immediately.  As  he  walked  down  the  street, 
the  few  people  who  met  him  and  looked  curious- 
ly at  him,  saw  that  he  was  deeply  absorbed  in 
thought.  In  fact,  he  was  revolving  what  he  had 
just  heard,  and  considering  what  it  meant. 

"  Mrs.  Gordon's  cousin,"  he  repeated  to  him- 
self. "  What  the  deuce  is  the  meaning  of  it  all ! 
Shall  I  never  get  to  the  end  of  all  the  strings  and 
counter-strings  which  seem  to  be  pulling  these 
people  to  and  fro?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE   SICK    LADY. 

Two  weeks  after  Miss  Trcsham  had  taken 
her  departure  from  Tallahoma,  a  carriage,  con- 
taining a  solitary  traveller,  drove  into  the  town 
of  Hartsburg — a  place  of  considerable  import- 
ance, situated  some  thirty  miles  southwest  of 
Saxford. 

"  The  Planters'  Hotel,  Cyrus,"  said  the  trav- 
eller, as  the  carriage  turned  into  the  Main  Street ; 
"  or,  no — I  was  cheated  shamefully  there  as  we 
went  on — the  Eagle  Hotel,  I  believe." 

"  Whar  that  be,  Mass  John  ?  " 

"  Two  squares  below  the  other  house,  on  the 
corner  of  the  street." 

Two  squares  below  the  other  house  the  car- 
riage proceeded,  and  stopped  before  a  large, 
rambling  frame  building,  two  stories  high,  with 
a  double  piazza  running  the  whole  length  of  the 
front.  An  uninviting  hostelry,  people  would 
think  nowadays,  with  ideas  of  brick  and  stucco 
in  their  minds ;  but  in  that  day  the  standard  of 
comfort  for  the  unfortunate  travelling  public 
was  by  no  means  a  high  one,  and,  as  houses  of 
entertainment  went,  the  Eagle  Hotel  was  by  no 
means  to  be  despised.  A  "  tavern  "  look  about 
it,  unmistakably ;  a  "  tavern  "  odor,  very  cer- 
tainly ;  but  still — well,  there  were  worse  places 
(probably  the  traveller  had  spent  the  night  be- 
fore at  one  of  them),  and  in  that  thought  was 
comfort. 

When  the  carriage  stopped,  a  man  came  for- 
ward from  the  group  of  smokers  and  loungers 
congregated,  according  to  invariable  custom,  on 
the  front  piazza,  and  reached  the  door  just  as  it 
was  opened  and  the  traveller  stepped  out. 


"  Well,  Mr.  Crump,  how  are  you  ?  "  said  the 
latter,  with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Warwick  !  how  do  you  do,  sir  ?  " 
exclaimed  Mr.  Crump,  extending  his  hand.  "  I 
had  no  idea  it  was  you !  You  don't  usually 
travel  in  this  sort  of  conveyance.  Walk  in, 
sir — walk  in.  Come  down  to  court,  I  sup. 


"  No  ;  I  have  been  below,  and  am  on  my  way 
back  to  Tallahoma.  Is  it  court-week  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  sir,  and  the  house  full  of  law- 
yers. I  never  saw  a  larger  crowd." 

"  Perhaps  you  can't  accommodate  me,  then  ?  " 

"  Never  fear  about  that,  sir.  The  old  woman 
will  find  you  a  room,  if  she  has  to  turn  the  judge 
himself  out. — Drive  the  carriage  round  to  the 
stables,  boy,  and  see  the  hostler  about  a  place 
for  your  horses. — Now,  Mr.  Warwick — " 

He  turned,  but  Mr.  Warwick  was  already 
surrounded  by  half  a  dozen  men — gentlemen  of 
the  legal  fraternity — who  were  shaking  hands, 
and  cordially  welcoming  him.  They  were  all 
glad  to  see  him ;  all  seemed  astonished  when 
they  heard  that  he  had  not  "  come  to  court ; " 
and  all  inquired  if  it  was  possible  he  had  no 
cases  on  the  docket.  While  he  was  answering 
their  questions,  and  endeavoring  to  make  them 
understand  that  it  was  merely  by  accident  he 
chanced  to  be  in  Hartsburg,  Mr.  Crump  seized 
his  portmanteau,  and,  carrying  it  into  the  bouse, 
called  vociferously  for  "  the  old  woman."  This 
personage  not  being  forthcoming,  half  a  dozen 
servants  appeared  from  as  many  different  quar- 
ters, and  to  one  of  them  Mr.  Crump  addressed 
himself. 

"  Sam,  take  this  valise  up-stairs,  and  ask 
your  mistress  where  it's  to  go.  Tell  her  it's 
Mr.  Warwick's,  from  Tallahoma. — Where  the 
dickens  is  she  ?  Don't  any  of  you  know?  " 

"  She's  in  the  sick  lady's  room,  sir,"  said  a 
tall  negro-woman,  who  came  down-stairs  as  he 
spoke.  "  She  says  as  how  she'll  be  here  in  a 
minute." 

"  Deuce  take  the  sick  lady — pshaw  !  I  don't 
mean  that  either ;  but  it  seems  to  me  Selina'a 
never  anywhere  else  these  days.  How  is  she, 
anyhow  ? — the  lady,  I  mean." 

The  woman  shook  her  head  with  that  doleful 
solemnity  which  a  negro  finds  real  and  sensible 
pleasure  in  indulging. 

"Miss  S'lina  thinks  she's  some  better,  sir," 

she  said,  and,  with  this  significant  mode  of  ex- 

pressing  her  orrn  opinion,  vanished. 

j        Mr.  Crump   gave  a  low  whistle,  expressive, 

(•apparently,  of  his  own  view  on  the  subject,  and, 


154 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


turning,  was  about  to  go  out  of  the  door,  when 
he  met  Mr.  Warwick  coming  in. 

"  Well,"  said  the  lawyer,  smiling,  "  how  Is 
it  ?  Can  Mrs.  Crump  find  a  corner  for  me  ?  I 
shall  only  trouble  her  for  one  night." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that  she'll  find  room  for  you, 
sir ;  but  I  haven't  seen  her  yet.  She's  busy  with 
a  sick  boarder,  who's  been  giving  us  no  end  of 
trouble.'' 

"  Indeed  I  But  Mrs.  Crump  don't  mind  trou- 
ble, I  know." 

Mr.  Crump  muttered  something  in  reply 
about  "  court-week,"  and  "  the  house  being 
full,"  from  which  it  was  to  be  supposed  that 
he  thought  it  would  be  better  for  him  if  his  wife 
did  mind  trouble  a  little  more.  He  evidently 
felt  injured  ;  but,  before  he  had  time  for  further 
expression  of  his  sentiments,  a  stout,  pleasant- 
faced  woman  of  about  fifty  came  down-stairs  and 
advanced  toward  them.  She  greeted  the  lawyer 
in  rather  a  preoccupied  manner,  and  then,  in- 
stead of  saying  any  thing  about  his  room,  turned 
to  her  husband. 

"  You'll  have  to  send  for  the  doctor  again, 
Tom.  I  thought,  a  little  while  ago,  that  she  was 
better;  but  I  don't  like  the  way  her  fever's 
rising  now,  and  I'm  afraid  she's  going  to  be 
light-headed  again." 

"  But,  Selina,  here's  Mr.  Warwick  wants  a 
room,  and — " 

"  I'll  see  about  Mr.  Warwick  presently,"  said 
Selina,  looking  at  him  with  a  pair  of  kindly  yet 
somewhat  anxious  eyes.  "  That  poor  child  up- 
stairs stays  on  my  mind ;  and,  do  what  I  will,  I 
can't  get  her  off  of  it.  Go  along,  Tom,  and  send 
for  the  doctor,  as  I  told  you. — Mr.  Warwick,  you 
don't  mind  my  being  a  little  put  out,  I  am  sure. 
If  you'll  come  with  me,  I'll  try  and  find  you  a 
room.  Somehow  I  had  an  idea  you'd  be  here 
this  week,  and  I  saved  you  one  right  along- 
side of  the  judge's.  I'll  go  and  look  in  to  see 
that  all's  right." 

She  led  the  way  up-stairs,  and  Mr.  Warwick, 
as  in  duty  bound,  had  nothing  but  thanks  for  the 
room  into  which  she  showed  him — it  being  very 
comfortable,  according  to  the  ideas  of  comfort 
existing  at  that  time.  While  she  still  lingered, 
touching  a  chair  here,  and  arranging  a  curtain 
there,  he  made  the  ordinary  inquiries  concerning 
her  health  and  domestic  affairs;  and,  after  these 
were  answered,  she,  of  her  own  accord,  led  the 
conversation  back  to  her  sick  boarder. 

"  A  poor  young  thing  that  don't  seem  to  have ' 
any  friends,  and — though  I  wouldn't  tell  Tom  so 
—I'll  venture  to  say,  not  over-much   money," 


she  said.  "  She  come  here  in  the  stage  one  night, 
and  meant  to  go  on  next  morning ;  but,  Lord 
bless  you !  she  was  took  down  with  a  fever,  and, 
though  that  was  more'n  a  week  ago,  she  hasn't 
lifted  up  her  head  since.  I've  tried  to  get  her  to 
tell  me  who  her  friends  are,  so  that  I  can  write 
to  'em ;  but  she  won't.  She  says  she  ain't  got 
any,  which,  you  know,  sir,  would  look  badly,  V" 
she  wasn't  such  a  real  lady." 

"She  is  a  lady — is  she?"  asked  Mr.  War- 
wick, carelessly.  The  sick  woman  was  to  him  a 
matter  of  infinitely  less  importance  than  some 
fresh  water  and  some  hot  coffee. 

"  A  real  lady,  sir,  as  ever  1  saw — no  half-way 
trash,  I  can  tell  you.  That's  the  pity  of  it,  and 
that's  what  makes  me  so  anxious  to  find  out 
who  she  is,  and  where  she  belongs.  I'm  as  sure 
she's  run  away  from  home  as  I  can  be ;  and,  if  a 
man  is  not  somehow  or  other  at  the  bottom  of 
it,  my  name  isn't  Selina  Crump.  I  only  wish 
he'd  dare  to  come  here,  and  set  his  foot  inside 
the  Eagle  Hotel !  " 

"  What  would  you  do  to  him  if  he  did  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Warwick,  who,  despite  his  weariness 
and  impatience,  was  amused  by  the  tone  in 
which  the  landlady's  last  words  were  uttered. 

"  What  would  I  do  ?  I'd  scald  him — that'* 
what  I'd  do  !  I'd  put  on  a  kettle  of  water  spe- 
cially for  him,  if  I  only  knowed  when  he  was 
coming ;  and  I'd  show  him  how  he  come  into  a 
honest  house,  after  Hieing  off  a  pretty  girl  like 
that,  and  then  leaving  her  to  die,  or  to  get  well 
as  best  she  could  !  " 

"  But  why  are  you  so  sure  that  a  nmn's  at 
the  bottom  of  it  ?  " 

In  reply  to  this,  Mrs.  Crump  became  some- 
what mysterious  and  reticent ;  but  it  finally  ap- 
peared  that  the  lady  had  been  delirious,  and, 
when  in  that  state,  had  talked  a  great  deal  of 
nonsense,  especially  about  a  somebody  named 
"John." 

"  She  always  thinks  he's  after  her,"  said  the 
landlady,  solemnly,  "  and  she's  always  trying  to 
get  away  from  him." 

"  Probably  he  is  her  husband,"  said  the  law- 
yer, basing  his  remark  upon  an  extended  knowl- 
edge of  human  nature  in  the  marital  relation. 

Mrs.  Crump  obstinately  shook  her  head,  and 
obstinately  held  her  ground — blind  to  the  long- 
ing glance  which  Mr.  Warwick,  with  the  dust 
of  a  day's  journey  upon  him,  directed  to  the 
wash-stand. 

"  There's  something  about  a  married  woman 
a  body  can  almost  always  tell,"  she  said.  "  I'm 
as  sure  as  can  be  that  this  girl  ain't  married 


THE   SICK   LADY 


155 


P'raps  she's  run  away  to  do  it ;  but  that's  a 
different  matter,  and  all  the  more  I'd  like  to 
send  her  back  to  her  friends."  A  pause  ;  then, 
in  an  insinuating  tone,  "  I  thought  you  might 
help  me  to  find  out  somethin'  about  her,  Mr. 
Warwick,  knowing  so  many  people  as  you  do. 
I  haven't  said  a  word  to  anybody  else,  because 
she's  such  a  lady  that  somehow  I  didn't  like  to 
do  it.  But  Tom  is  mighty  snappish  about  her, 
and,  if  I  could  only  find  out  who  she  is,  it  might 
make  him  hold  his  tongue." 

"  I  do  know  a  good  many  people,"  said  Mr. 
Warwick,  patiently ;  "  but  it  is  quite  impossible 
for  me  to  tell  whether  I  know  the  relations  or 
friends  of  this  sick  lady  among  them.  Pray, 
•what  is  her  name?  " 

"  She  wrote  it  down  when  she  came,  and  Tom 
put  it  on  the  register ;  but  my  head's  dreadful 
for  remembering  such  things,  and  I  couldn't 
tell  it  to  you  now,  if  my  life  depended  on  it.  I 
saw  a  book  lying  on  the  table  with  her  name 
written  in  it,  though,  and  I'll  go  and  get  that  for 
you." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  left  the 
room,  and,  with  another  regretful  glance  at  the 
wash-stand,  Mr.  Warwick  walked  to  the  window, 
to  await  her  return.  At  that  moment  the  prin- 
cipal thought  in  his  mind  was  a  wish  that  he 
had  gone  to  the  Planters'  Hotel.  He  began  to 
wonder  if  there  were  any  "  sick  ladies "  there, 
to  be  thrust  remorselessly  upon  the  attention  of 
travellers,  and  defer  indefinitely  those  ablutions 
of  which  tired  nature  (when  just  off  a  journey) 
first  and  foremost  stands  in  need.  "  Mrs.  Crump 
ought  to  know  better,"  he  said  to  himself,  a  little 
indignantly ;  and,  as  he  said  it,  the  door  opened, 
and  Mrs.  Crump  reappeared  with  a  small,  black, 
much-worn  book  in  her  hand. 

"  When  she  was  herself,  she  mostly  had  it 
on  the  bed  by  her,"  said  the  good  woman  ;  "  but 
to-day  she's  been  light-headed,  and  so  I  put  it  on 
the  table,  and  in  that  way  I  got  it  without  dis- 
turbing her.  Here  it  is,  Mr.  Warwick,  and  the 
name's  in  it." 

Mr.  Warwick  took  the  volume,  and,  as  he 
did  so,  he  could  not  repress  a  start,  or  account 
for  a  sudden  chill  instinct,  that  seemed  to  rush 
over  him.  The  book  was  a  pocket-edition  of 
Thomas  a  Kempis's  "  Following  of  Christ,"  and 
at  once  struck  him  as  strangely  similar  to  one 
that  he  had  often  seen  in  Katharine  Tresham's 
hand.  It  was  her  familiar  companion,  and,  as 
such,  familiar  to  him  also.  Just  now  he  could 
have  sworn  that  this  was  the  very  book — he  knew 
the  very  look  of  the  worn  edges,  the  embossed 


cross  in  the  middle  of  the  back,  and  the  smaller 
crosses  at  each  corner.  "  I  am  a  fool ! "  he 
thought,  and  opened  it  at  once,  at  the  fly-leaf. 
There,  traced  in  faded  ink,  he  read,  "  To  Katha- 
rine Tresham,  from  her  aunt,  Mary  Tresham," 
and  a  date  fourteen  years  before  ! 

To  say  that  Mrs.  Crump  was  startled  by  the 
face  that  turned  round  upon  her,  would  be  to 
describe  her  sensations  very  inadequately — for 
she  was  in  fact  astounded.  She  fell  back  a 
little,  and  grasped  the  bedpost  in  a  state  of 
alarm. 

"  Goodness  alive,  Mr.  Warwick  ! "  she  cried  ; 
"  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Is  that  the  name  which  the  lady  gave 
you  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Warwick,  following  her,  and 
pointing  to  the  writing  on  the  fly-leaf — "  is  that 
the  name  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  that's  the  name.  I — 1 
told  you  it  was  in  the  book."  Then  gaming 
courage — "  Is  any  thing  wrong  about  her,  Mr. 
Warwick  ?  Oh,  me  !  what  will  Tom  say  ?  " 

"  Wrong  !  "  repeated  Mr.  Warwick,  in  a  tone 
that  made  her  start  back  again.  Then  he 
stopped  and  recollected  himself.  "  You  have 
acted  quite  properly,  Mrs.  Crump,"  he  said, 
quietly,  "  and  your  decision  in  this  matter  shows 
you  to  be  a  woman  of  good  judgment,  as  well  as 
of  kind  heart.  This  is  a  lady — "  he  emphasized 
the  word — "  whom  I  left  at  my  sister's  house, 
in  Tallahoma,  and  whom  I  am  naturally  sur- 
prised to  find  here.  I  know  her  well,  and  can 
vouch  for  her  in  every  particular.  Will  you  sit 
down  and  tell  me  how  she  came  here,  and  every 
thing  that  you  know  about  her  ?  " 

Mrs.  Crump  willingly  obeyed  ;  but  out  of  her 
verbose  narrative  Mr.  Warwick  gathered  very 
little  more  than  he  had  heard  already.  On 
Wednesday,  a  week  before  (this  was  Thursday), 
Miss  Tresham  had  arrived  in  Hartsburg,  and 
stopped  at  the  Eagle  Hotel  for  the  night,  de- 
claring her  intention  of  continuing  her  jour- 
ney (destination  unknown),  the  next  morning. 
As  the  landlady  learned  afterward,  she  had  a 
burning  fever  all  night,  and,  when  morning 
came,  was  not  able  to  leave  her  bed.  Since 
then,  she  had  steadily  grown  worse,  and  lay  in 
alternate  stupor  and  delirium  most  of  the  time. 
When  questioned  about  medical  attendance, 
Mrs.  Crump  answered,  hesitatingly.  The  doctor 
had  not  come  very  often — perhaps  because  he 
thought  it  extremely  doubtful  whether  he  would 
ever  be  paid  for  coming  at  all — and  had  not 
spoken  by  any  means  encouragingly.  "  I  don't 
think  he's*  got  much  idea  that  she'll  live,"  said 


156 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


Mrs.  Crump.  "  He  told  me  I'd  better  try  my 
best  to  find  out  about  her  friends." 

"  Who  is  the  doctor— Randolph  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  a  new  doctor — Joyner  is  bis  name 
—who,  I  thought,  might  pay  more  attention, 
because  he  hasn't  got  any  practice  to  speak 
of." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him  when  he  comes, 
and,  meanwhile,  I  wish  you  would  send  a  mes- 
senger for  Dr.  Randolph.  I — "  He  stopped  a 
moment,  as  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 
"  Who  is  that  ?  " 

"  It's  me,  sir,"  responded  an  unmistakably 
African  voice.  "  Mass  Tom  sent  me  to  see  if 
Miss  S'lina's  up  here." 

"  What  does  he  want  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Crump, 
going  forward  and  opening  the  door. 

"  He  say  the  doctor's  come,  ma'am,  and  Mom 
Hannah's  done  took  him  in  the  sick  lady's 
room." 

"  You  had  better  go  at  once,"  said  Mr.  War- 
wick, as  she  turned  and  looked  at  him.  "  Be 
sure  and  send  the  doctor  to  me  before  he  leaves. 
I  will  wait  for  him  here." 

After  she  left,  he  sat  quite  still — totally  for- 
getful of  the  dust  now — trying  to  realize,  and,  if 
possible,  to  account  for  this  singular  freak  of  cir- 
cumstance. But  the  more  he  thought,  the  more 
absolutely  puzzled  he  became — the  more  difficult 
it  was  to  believe  that  the  woman  of  whom  Mrs. 
Crump  spoke,  the  woman  who  lay  thus,  sick  and 
helpless  at  the  mercy  of  strangers,  was  the 
Katharine  Tresham  whom  he  fancied  safe  in 
his  sister's  home,  the  Katharine  Tresham  whom 
he  had  seen  last  in  her  white  ball-dress,  with  the 
blue  flowers  in  her  soft,  brown  hair  !  "  There 
must  be  some  mistake ! "  he  said,  half  aloud. 
"  It  cannot  be ! "  But,  as  he  uttered  the  words, 
he  looked  at  the  little  book  still  in  his  hand,  and 
it  seemed  to  answer,  "  It  is  so  ! "  But  how  did 
she  come  here  —  so  strangely  friendless  and 
alone  ?  It  was  vain  to  ask  himself  that  ques- 
tion— vain  to  torment  himself  with  fruitless  con- 
jectures. Of  course,  he  thought  of  St.  John,  of 
Mrs.  Gordon,  of  his  sister,  of  Annesley,  of  the 
money  drawn  at  the  bank,  and  Mr.  Marks's  com- 
ment upon  it — but  all  these  people  and  things 
were  hopelessly  confused  in  his  mind.  He  could 
not  even  frame  out  of  them  a  conjecture  plausi- 
ble enough  to  satisfy  himself.  One  random 
thought  succeeded  another,  until  at  last,  to 
escape  from  them,  he  rose  and  started  to  leave 
the  room.  "I'll  meet  the  doctor,"  he  said. 
This  intention  was  frustrated,  however,  for  the 
doctor  was  at  the  door. 


"  Mr.  Worwick  ?  "  said  he,  interrogatively. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Wrarwick.  "  Dr.  Joyner,  I 
presume  ?  Walk  in,  sir.  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you." 

Dr.  Joyner  bowed  and  walked  in.  He  had 
on  his  professional  face  and  his  professional 
manner.  Having  said  this,  it  is  useless  to  say 
how  he  looked  in  the  matter  of  expression,  for 
all  doctors  look  alike  under  these  circumstances. 
The  drill  of  a  soldier  is  not  more  exactly  marked 
than  this  professional  mask,  which  is  so  widely 
prevalent  that  an  inquiring  observer  is  some- 
times driven  to  wonder  if  the  novices  of  medi- 
cine are  taught  deportment  as  well  as  science. 
In  the  way  of  personal  appearance,  Dr.  Joyner 
was  a  man  who  might  have  been  twenty-five  by 
his  figure,  and  forty-five  by  his  face.  The  anom- 
aly of  youth  and  age  is  not  often  seen  united 
in  the  same  person ;  but,  when  it  is,  it  strikes 
us  unpleasantly — we  can  scarcely  tell  why.  It 
struck  Mr.  Warwick  unpleasantly  as  soon  as  the 
physician  entered  the  room,  and  yet  he  could  not 
possibly  have  given  his  reasons  for  the  feeling. 
Dr.  Joyner  sat  down,  and  opened  the  conversa- 
tion himself. 

"  I  was  referred  to  you  by  Mrs.  Crump,  sir. 
I  understand  that  you  are  a  friend  of  the  lady  I 
have  just  seen." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Warwick,  "  I  am  a 
friend  of  hers,  and,  in  the  absence  of  other 
friends,  I  am  anxious  to  hear  an  exact  account 
of  her  case.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  give 
it  me  ?  " 

This  direct  question  seemed  to  embarrass  the 
doctor  a  little.  He  had  uncertain  sort  of  eyes, 
that  were  given  to  shifting  their  gaze.  They 
shifted  it  immediately,  and,  instead  of  looking 
at  the  lawyer's  face,  gazed  out  of  the  win- 
dow 

"  The  lady's  case  is  a  peculiar  one,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  the  illness  under 
which  she  is  laboring  has  developed  itself  suf- 
ficiently for  me  to  give  it  a  specific  name." 

Mr.  Warwick  looked  astonished.  "  What !  '' 
he  said.  "  She  has  been  511  for  a  week,  the  land- 
lady tells  me,  and  you  are  not  yet  able  to  give 
her  disease  a  specific  name  !  " 

"  The  symptoms  have  developed  themselves 
slowly,"  answered  the  doctor,  stiffly.  "  I  have 
treated  her,  in  a  general  way,  for  fever  produced 
by  cold  and  excitement ;  but  to-day  I  begin  to 
think  that  the  brain  is  becoming  involved.  If 
so — "  He  stopped  and  hesitated. 

Mr.  Warwick  turned  a  little  pale,  but  took 
up  his  sentence  quietly  : 


THE   SICK   LADY. 


15? 


"  If  so,  you  think  her  life  in  danger?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  go  so  far  as  that ;  but  I  think 
her  illness  may  be  very  serious." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  doctor's  eyes  shifted 
from  the  window  to  the  mantel-piece,  and  thence 
travelled  back  to  his  questioner's  face.  They 
rested  there  in  keen  and  undisturbed  scrutiny 
for  several  minutes,  Mr.  Warwick  being  deep  in 
thought,  with  his  brows  slightly  knitted,  and  his 
own  gaze  fastened  on  the  floor.  Without  looking 
up,  he  said,  slowly: 

"  If  I  only  knew  what  to  do ! " 

"  I  would  advise  you  to  write  to  the  lady's 
friends,  if  you  know  them,  sir,"  said  the  doctor, 
quietly. 

The  other  started,  and  glanced  up. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was  thinking  aloud. 
Can  I  see  your  patient  ?  " 

"  You  can  see  her,  certainly." 

"  Will  it  not  be  dangerous  ?  will  it  not  excite 
her?" 

"  It  cannot  possibly  excite  her,  for  she  knows 
nobody." 

"  She  could  not  answer  a  single  question, 
then?" 

"  Not  when  I  left  her,  ten  minutes  ago." 

Mr.  Warwick  resumed  his  scrutiny  of  the  car- 
pet, and  Dr.  Joyner  resumed  his  scrutiny  of  Mr. 
Warwick.  In  this  way  another  minute  passed. 
Then  the  lawyer  rose. 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  to  her  room  ?  "  he 
Baid.  "  Since  I  am  her  only  friend  within  reach, 
I  must  see  her,  and  judge  for  myself  of  her  con- 
dition." 

"  I  am  at  your  service,"  said  the  other,  rising 
in  turn. 

They  left  the  room,  and  walked  down  the 
passage  together,  making  one  or  two  sharp  turns 
around  sharp  corners — for  the  house  was  built 
with  a  daring  disregard  of  any  plan  or  order 
whatever — and  finally  pausing  before  a  door,  at 
which  the  doctor  tapped  lightly.  A  negro-woman 
— the  same  who  had  spoken  to  Mr.  Crump  in  the 
passage  below — opened  it,  and,  seeing  the  doctor, 
made  way  for  them  to  enter. 

A  queer  little  room,  with  a  fireplace  in  the 
corner,  and  dark-green  walls,  that  contrasted 
strongly  with  clean  white  curtains,  was  what 
the  lawyer  saw.  The  furniture  was  plain  and 
scanty,  but  there  was  not  space  for  much ;  and 
the  bed,  which  occupied  tho  most  prominent 
place,  was  neatly  draped  in  spotless  coverings. 
The  best  that  the  house  afforded  was  plainly 
here,  and  it  was  evident  that  Katharine  had 
suffered  from  no  neglect  at  the  hands  of  her 
11 


entertainers.  Without  saying  a  word,  the  doctor 
led  the  way  to  the  bed,  and  Mr.  Warwick  fol- 
lowed him.  Standing  side  by  side,  they  looked 
down  on  the  sick  girl. 

She  had  fallen  into  a  light  slumber,  and  lay 
with  her  head  thrown  back  over  the  pillows, 
showing  the  white  arch  of  her  throat,  and  its 
large  arteries,  beating  with  a  rush  that  it  wag 
painful  to  watch.  Her  cheeks  were  deeply 
flushed ;  her  hair  fell  in  tangled  masses  all 
about  her  face ;  and  her  lips  were  bright  scar- 
let. She  made  a  lovely  picture,  seen  in  the 
half-darkened  room,  with  the  white  draperies 
of  the  bed  surrounding  her ;  but  it  was  a  pic- 
ture lovely  with  that  awful  glow  of  fever  which 
hushes  our  breath  even  when  we  see  it  in  a 
stranger.  The  most  inexperienced  person  look- 
ing on  could  hardly  have  failed  to  perceive  that, 
if  life  and  death  were  not  already  wrestling 
here,  the  hour  of  their  struggle  was  not  far  dis- 
tant, and  the  issue  more  than  doubtful.  One 
hand  was  thrown,  as  if  in  fevered  restlessness, 
outside  the  counterpane.  Mr.  Warwick  stooped 
down  and  laid  his  finger  lightly  on  the  wrist. 
Almost  immediately  he  lifted  his  face,  and  looked 
at  the  doctor. 

"  Feel  her  pulse,"  he  said.  "  I  may  be  inex- 
perienced ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  going  at 
a  fearful  rate.  I  cannot  count  it." 

Even  in  the  dim  light,  it  was  evident  to  his 
keen  eyes  that  the  doctor  changed  color.  He 
drew  out  his  watch,  and,  taking  the  wrist,  began 
counting  the  pulse,  speaking  after  a  while  with- 
out lifting  his  eyes. 

"  Her  fever  is  rising.  I  was  afraid  it  would. 
She  seemed  so  much  lowered  in  strength  yester- 
day that  I  ordered  stimulants,  and  I  think  they 
have  been  pressed  too  far.  She  was  delirious 
when  I  was  here  a  while  ago." 

"  She  seems  to  be  sleeping  now." 

"  Speak  to  her,  and  see  if  you  can  rouse 
her." 

Mr.  Warwick  spoke.  His  words  roused  her, 
for  she  opened  her  eyes  at  once ;  but  there  was 
no  consciousness  in  their  gaze.  They  looked  at 
him  blankly,  and,  when  he  spoke  again,  she  an- 
swered in  the  .aimless  wanderings  of  delirium- 
few  words — words  without  any  gleam  of  reason 
— accompanied  by  a  wild  and  painful  glare  of 
the  eye,  so  foreign  to  its  usual  soft  expression 
that  it  absolutely  destroyed  her  resemblance  to 
herself,  and  made  Mr.  Warwick  almost  question 
if  this  were  indeed  Katharine  Tresham.  After  a 
minute  spent  in  close  and  attentive  observation, 
he  walked  to  the  door,  and  beckoned  the  doctor 


158 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


to  follow  him.  Once  outside,  be  stopped  and 
turned,  thus  facing  the  other. 

"  I  find  that  the  case  is  much  more  serious 
than  I  could  possibly  have  imagined,"  he  said. 
"  I  fear  that  there  has  been  some  neglect." 

"  It  was  quite  impossible  for  me  to  nurse 
the  patient  as  well  as  prescribe  for  her,"  an- 
swered the  doctor,  coldly.  "  All  that  I  could  do 
I  have  done." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  will  not  object  to  my 
calling  in.  another  physician  ?  I  have  sent  for 
Dr.  Randolph." 

He  said  this  in  a  matter-of-course  tone;  but 
he  was  not  unprepared  for  what  followed.  His 
distrust  of  the  doctor — increasing  continually 
ever  since  the  doctor  entered  his  room — made 
him  expect  very  much  the  reply  that  came.  The 
man  flushed  deeply,  and  drew  back  with  a  stiff 
little  bow. 

"  In  that  event,  I  beg  leave  to  withdraw  from 
the  case.  I  decline  to  go  into  consultation  with 
Dr.  Randolph." 

"  Be  good  enough,  then,  to  make  out  your 
bill  and  send  it  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Warwick. 
"  Good-evening." 

He  left  the  man  standing  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  and  went  down,  smiling  a  little  to  himself. 
"  It  did  not  cost  much  trouble,"  he  said,  half 
aloud,  as  he  looked  round  in  search  of  Mr. 
Crump.  That  worthy  was  easily  found,  and 
matters  were  soon  placed  on  a  satisfactory  foot- 
ing. Mr.  Warwick  had  very  vague  ideas  on  the 
subject  of  sick-nursing ;  but  he  knew  that  unre- 
mitting attention  was  an  item  of  the  first  impor- 
tance, and  he  provided  for  this  by  engaging  the 
services  of  two  women,  who  were  to  relieve  each 
other  on  duty. 

"  Hannah's  up-stairs  now,"  said  Mr.  Crump, 
"  and  Elsie'll  be  on  hand  when  she's  wanted.  Is 
there  any  thing  else,  Mr.  Warwick  ?  " 

"  I  asked  Mrs.  Crump  to  send  for  Dr.  Ran- 
dolph. Do  you  know  whether  she  did  so  ?  " 

Before  Mr.  Crump  could  reply,  a  heavy  step 
sounded  in  the  passage  outside  the  room  in 
which  they  were  standing,  and  a  round,  full 
voice  was  heard  asking,  "  Which  room  ?  " 

"  There's  the  doctor  now,"  said  Mr.  Crump. — 
M  This  way,  doctor  !  Here's  Mr.  Warwick." 

"  This  way — is  it  ?  "  responded  the  same 
jovial  voice ;  and  the  next  instant  a  tall,  stout 
man,  with  a  frank,  pleasant  face,  and  an  eye  of 
that  peculiar  color  which  can  only  be  called 
"  laughing  hazel,"  entered  the  apartment,  lightly 
•winging  a  stick,  formidable  enough  to  have  been 
an  Irishman's  shillalah. 


"  Well,  doctor,  how  are  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  War- 
wick, meeting  him  with  extended  hand. 

"  Mr.  Warwick,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you, 
and  to  see  you  looking  so  well,"  said  the  doctor, 
giving  the  hand  a  cordial  shake.  "  I  was  afraid, 
from  the  urgency  of  the  message,  that  I  should 
find  you  seriously  ill.  You  haven't  much  the 
look  of  a  sick  man,"  he  added,  laughing.  "  What 
is  the  matter  ? — broken  down  from  over-work  ? 
I've  prophesied  that,  you  know." 

"Your  prophecy  is  not  verified  yet,  at  any 
rate.  But  you  are  mistaken ;  I  am  not  the  pa- 
tient for  whom  you  were  summoned.  There 
is  a  lady  here  under  my  care"  (Mr.  Crump 
opened  his  eyes  to  their  fullest  extent),  "  who 
is,  I  fear,  dangerously  ill.  I  want  you  to  see 
her." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  want  you  to  tell  me.  I  am 
afraid,  however,  that  she  has  brain-fever." 

"  When  was  she  taken  ?  " 

"  A  week  ago." 

"  A  week  ago — here  ?  " 

"  Yes— here." 

"  And  who  has  been  attending  her  ?  " 

"A  doctor  of  whom  I  know  nothing  but 
that  his  name  is  Joyner." 

At  the  sound  of  that  name,  Dr.  Randolph 
dropped  his  eyes,  which  had  been  fastened  on 
the  speaker's  face,  looked  in  the  fire,  and  said 
"  Humph ! "  in  a  significant  manner,  that  was 
not  lost  on  Mr.  Warwick.  He  at  once  hastened 
to  explain. 

"  Don't  think  that  /  called  him  in,  doctor. 
Misa  Tresham  came  here  a  wee*k  ago,  as  I  tell 
you,  and  was  taken  ill.  Mrs.  Crump  called  in 
Dr.  Joyner.  I  arrived  an  hour  ago,  and  I  have 
already  dismissed  him.  With  little  or  no  knowl- 
edge of  medicine,  I  am  still  able  to  perceive  that 
he  has  been  grossly  mistreating  the  case.  What 
I  ask  of  you  now  is  to  see  if  you  can  repair  the 
mischief  he  has  done." 

"  That  may  be  harder  than  you  think,"  said 
the  doctor,  gravely.  "  A  week — however,  I  will 
reserve  my  opinion  till  I  see  the  patient ;  and 
that  I  will  do  immediately,  if  you  please." 

Mr.  Warwick  led  the  way  to  Miss  Tresham's 
room,  and  just  at  the  door  they  met  Mrs.  Crump 
coming  out. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  !  "  she  said 
to  the  doctor.  "She  is  clean  gone  out  of  her 
head,  and  the  Lord  knows  I  haven't  an  idea  what 
to  do  with  her." 

The  doctor  did  not  utter  a  word,  but  passed 
her  hastilj  and  entered  the  chamber.  One  step 


THE   SICK   LADY. 


159 


took  him  to  the  bed,  where,  with  flaming  cheeks, 
and  eyes  bright  with  the  awful  glare  of  fever, 
Katharine  lay  tossing  and  raving  wildly.  He 
gave  a  single  glance,  then  turned  and  drew  back 
the  curtain  from  a  window  near  him.  It  chanced 
to  be  toward  the  west,  and  the  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun  streamed  with  a  flood  of  golden  glory 
into  the  little  room,  filling  it  with  an  almost  daz- 
zling radiance.  The  sudden  rush  of  light  almost 
blinded  the  others ;  but  the  doctor  bent  over  the 
bed,  felt  the  pulse  that  bounded  beneath  his 
touch,  and  gazed  intently  into  the  eyes  that  met 
his  own. 

When  he  raised  his  face,  Mr.  Warwick  was 
startled  by  the  gravity  of  his  brow  and  lip. 
"  Bring  a  basin  here,"  he  said  to  the  servant. 
To  Mrs.  Crump,  "Bare  her  arm."  He  drew  a 
small  case  from  his  pocket.  The  next  moment, 
there  was  the  gleam  of  a  lancet,  a  sharp  stroke 
into  the  soft,  white  flesh,  and  a  stream  of  dark- 
red  blood  pouring  into  the  basin. 

"  Bandages,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Crump,  who 
was  standing  by.  While  she  was  gone  for  them, 
he  turned  to  Mr.  Warwick,  and  added,  "  Brain- 
fever  of  the  most  violent  type.  This  is  the  only 
hope  of  saving  her  life." 

"  It  is  brain-fever,  then  ?  " 

"  Beyond  doubt.  If  I  had  only  seen  her  a 
day  earlier ! " 

"  Thank  God  it  is  not  a  day  later ! "  said  the 
lawyer,  under  his  breath. 

There  was  no  time  for  any  thing  more. 
Mrs.  Crump  returned,  and  the  doctor  imme- 
diately devoted  his  whole  energy  to  his  patient. 
In  the  face  of  all  remonstrances  and  entreaties 
to  the  contrary  (Mrs.  Crump  and  Mom  Hannah 
freely  treated  him  to  both),  he  bled  her  until  in- 
sensibility took  the  place  of  violent  raving.  Then, 
and  then  only,  he  stopped  the  flow  of  the  blood, 
and  bound  up  her  arm.  After  this,  he  called  for 
a  pair  of  scissors  a.nd  for  ice.  With  the  first, 
he  remorselessly  cut  from  her  head  the  rich, 
brown  locks  that  had  crowned  it  like  a  glory, 
and,  when  they  lay  scattered  over  the  bed,  he 
saturated  a  towel  with  water,  filled  it  with  ice, 
and  bound  it  around  the  burning  temples. 

"  There ! "  he  said,  speaking  for  the  first 
time,  after  this  was  done.  "  Remember,  Han- 
nah, this  is  your  business  —  to  keep  a  supply 
of  towels  and  ice  at  hand,  and  change  them 
whenever  the  chill  has  worn  off.  With  the  fever, 
that  won't  be  long. — Mrs.  Crump,  I  suppose  you 
have  no  time  to  spare' — " 

"Indeed,  doctor,  I  shall  take  the  time,"  in- 
terrupted Mrs.  Crump,  hastily.  "  Just  tell  me 


what  you  want  done,  and  I'll  engage  to  do  it,  no 
matter  what  else  goes  undone." 

"  Just  at  present  there  is  nothing  to  do,  ex- 
cept to  send  for  some  leeches,  and  try  and  keep 
things  as  quiet  as  possible.  Could  you  give 
those  gentlemen  down-stairs  a  hint  that  there  ia 
a  case  of  brain-fever  in  the  house,  and  that  a  lit- 
tle less  noise  would  be  desirable  ?  " 

"  I'll  give  'em  something  more'n  a  hint," 
answered  Mrs.  Crump,  decidedly — and  left  the 
room,  to  send  for  the  leeches,  and  command  tho 
peace. 

"  A  word  with  you,  Mr.  Warwick,"  said  the 
doctor,  walking  away  to  the  farthest  window. 
"  I  think  it  right  to  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  as 
Mr.  Warwick  followed  him,  "  that  this  attack  is 
a  very  dangerous  one,  and,  from  present  appear- 
ance, the  chances  are  that  it  will  prove  fatal  in 
its  result.  If  the  young  lady  has  any  friends, 
they  ought  to  be  communicated  with  at  once." 

He  paused  as  if  for  a  reply;  but  Mr.  War- 
wick did  not  speak.  Situated  as  he  was — in 
utter  ignorance  how  or  why  Katharine  had  left 
his  sister's  house — it  was  impossible  for  him  not 
to  hesitate  when  thus  summarily  brought  to  the 
point  of  positive  action.  He  did  hesitate — he 
ran  over  in  his  mind  the  unsatisfactory  condi- 
tion of  affairs  when  he  left  home,  and  the  unsat- 
isfactory conjectures  that  had  beset  him  an  hour 
ago,  without  arriving  at  any  result.  Finally,  he 
looked  at  the  doctor,  and  made  a  simple  state- 
ment of  facts. 

"  In  few  words,  doctor,  I  don't  like  to  do 
this  without  Miss  Tresham's  sanction,"  he  said. 
"  She  is  a  foreigner,  with  no  relations  in  Amer- 
ica, and  as  for  her  friends — I  can  only  account 
for  her  presence  here  by  supposing  that  some 
estrangement  has  occurred  to  separate  her  from 
those  who  might  be  called  her  friends.  Under 
these  circumstances,  I  do  not  think  that  my  in- 
terference could  do  any  good — certainly  not  by 
means  of  letters." 

"  But  when  her  life  is  in  danger  ?  " 

"  That  statement  would,  of  course,  be  suf- 
ficient to  bring  relatives  to  her  bedside ;  but 
you  know  the  world  well  enough  to  be  able  to 
judge  whether  it  would  be  likely  to  have  any 
effect  on  those  who  were  simply  bound  to  her  by 
ties  of  convenience." 

The  doctor  was  silenced.  He  looked  from 
the  bed  to  the  lawyer,  and  from  the  lawyer  to 
the  bed,  trying  to  understand  the  matter,  and 
failing  utterly  to  do  so.  In  the  range  of  his  pro- 
fessional experience,  many  sad  pages  of  human 
life  had  come  under  his  eye — as  they  come  under 


160 


the  eye  of  all  men  of  all  professions,  and  of  all 
physicians  especially — many  desolate  stories  had 
been  laid  bare  to  him,  many  woful  tragedies  hud 
been  acted  before  him,  until  out  of  very  familiar- 
ity, he  had  grown  callous  to  these  varied  phases 
of  the  one  great  drama  of  human  suffering.  But 
now  he  felt  strangely  touched.  That  this  girl,  so 
young,  so  fair — had  she  been  ugly,  the  position 
would  have  lost  half  its  pathos ! — so  evidently 
of  tender  nurture,  should  be  thrown  utterly 
friendless,  utterly  alone,  upon  the  care  and  kind- 
ness of  strangers,  seemed  to  him  inexpressibly 
pitiful.  He  felt  for  her  deeply — felt  as  he  had 
not  felt  for  any  one  since  he  was  young  and  im- 
pressionable, and  new  at  his  profession;  but 
with  regard  to  John  Warwick,  his  part  in  the 
matter  the  doctor  failed  entirely  to  compre- 
hend. If  all  that  he  had  said  were  true,  what 
interest  had  he  in  the  girl,  what  right  to  make 
her  safety  his  personal  care  ?  Such  conduct 
was  so  unlike  the  quiet,  reserved  lawyer,  always 
gravely  courteous  to  women,  yet  always  care- 
fully avoiding  them,  that  it  seemed  incredible. 
Reading  the  doctor's  surprise  in  the  doctor's 
face,  Mr.  Warwick — for  Katharine's  sake — ad- 
dressed himself  frankly  to  it. 

"I  see  you  think  it  strange  that  I  should 
occupy  the  position  I  do,"  he  said  ;  "  but  if  you 
will  consider  a  moment,  I  think  you  will  under- 
stand why  and  how  it  is.  Miss  Tresham  has 
been  living  in  my  sister's  house  for  two  years, 
and  I  have  learned  to  know  her  well,  and  to  re- 
spect her  highly.  I  do  not  know  why  she  has 
left  her  position ;  but  I  am  confident  that  it  was 
by  no  fault  of  her  own  ;  and  it  would  be  strange 
if — meeting  her  accidentally,  as  I  have  done — I 
did  not  do  every  thing  in  my  power  for  her. 
Considering  that  I  am  old  enough  to  be  her 
father,  I  am  sure  you  will  grant  this." 

"  Leaving  your  age  out  of  the  question,"  said 
the  doctor,  with  a  shade  of  his  usual  jovial  smile, 
"  I  grant  it  fully,  Mr.  Warwick.  Your  conduct  is 
that  of  a  true-hearted  gentleman,  and  you  have 
my  hearty  respect  and  support.  God  willing, 
we'll  pull  the  poor  girl  through,  with  or  without 
help  from  anybody  else.  Now  tell  me  if  you 
have  any  idea  of  the  cause  of  her  illness." 

"  Not  the  least.  When  I  saw  her  last  she 
was  in  perfect  health." 

"  That  was  when  ?  " 

"  Less  than  three  weeks  ago." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  suppose  that  she 
may  have  been  suffering  from  trouble  or  distress 
of  mind  ?  " 

41  r.  Warwick  thought  of  St.  John,  and  paused 


a  moment  before  he  replied.  "  I  do  not  know," 
he  said.  "  I  think  it  probable  that  she  has ; 
but  if  so,  we  cannot  reach  the  cause,  and  it  ia 
useless  to  consider  it.  Do  you  suppose  that 
mental  trouble  has  brought  this  on  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell — I  can  only  make  a  surmise 
from  the  condition  in  which  I  find  her.  Speak- 
ing  in  the  dark,  I  should  say  that  mental  trou- 
ble, liberally  aided  and  abetted  by  quack  treat- 
ment, has  brought  it  on." 

"  My  instinct  was  right,  then — that  man  is  a 
quack  ? " 

"  A  quack !  That  old  woman  yonder  has 
quite  as  good  a  right  to  put  M.  D.  after  her 
name,  and,  I  dare  say,  a  much  better  amount  of 
medical  knowledge  to  support  it.  The  scoun- 
drel has  hardly  the  barest  smattering  of  infor- 
mation on  the  subject — as  he  proves  by  leaving 
a  case  whenever  another  doctor  is  called  in. 
This  is  not  the  first  patient  he  has  brought  to 
death's  door — and,  unfortunately,  some  of  them 
go  beyond  it.  Last  week  a  poor  fellow  died  un- 
der his  hands — a  carpenter  with  a  large  family. 
As  clear  a  case  of  butchery  as  ever  I  saw ! " 

"  Is  there  no  way  of  stopping  this  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  way  as  long  as  people,  like  our 
friend  Mrs.  Crump,  choose  to  send  for  him. 
We  live  in  a  free  country,  you  know,  and  when 
a  man  comes  and  settles  among  us,  there  is 
no  competent  authority  to  examine  his  diplo- 
ma and  give  him  a  license,  before  he  sets  to 
work  killing  people." 

"  I  think  if  I  see  him  again,  I  shall  feel  very 
much  tempted  to  put  it  out  of  his  power  to  do 
any  more  mischief — for  some  time  to  come,  at 
least." 

"  He  is  not  likely  to  let  you  see  him  again. 
To  give  the  rascal  his  due,  he  is  the  embodiment 
of  discretion.  As  I  came  along  the  street,  some- 
body told  me  that  one  of  his  other  patients — his 
only  other  one,  I  expect — was  in  a  critical  con- 
dition. If  she  dies,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
the  town  will  become  too  hot  to  hold  him.  But 
we  must  make  arrangements  for  to-night.  Some- 
body must  sit  up  here — somebody  who  can  be 
relied  on  to  follow  my  directions  exactly." 

"  I  will  do  it." 

"  You  can,  if  you  choose — and  so  shall  I, 
for  that  matter.  But  there  must  be  somebody 
besides  —  a  woman,  of  course.  Mrs.  Crump 
would  be  the  person,  if  she  was  not  broken 
down ;  but,  from  her  looks,  I  should  say  that 
she  was  up  last  night.  I'll  send  my  wife.  Slie 
will  be  glad  to  be  of  service." 

"  Doctor,  how  can  I  thank  you  1 M 


AN   OLD   FRIEND. 


161 


"  Don't  think  of  such  a  thing  till  we  see  how 
it  turns  out."  He  walked  to  the  bed,  and  looked 
down  at  the  hotly-flushed  face,  the  parched  lips, 
and  wandering  eyes,  with  a  glance  of  pity. 
"  Poor  girl ! "  he  said  to  himself.  Then,  sharp- 
ly, aloud  to  the  old  woman,  "  More  ice  here — 
change  these  cloths."  Then,  again,  to  War- 
wick, "  It  all  hangs  on  a  thread.  There  is  no 
telling  what  the  end  will  be." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

AN    OLD   FRIEND. 

WHILE  Miss  Tresham  was  lying  ill  at  the 
Eagle  Hotel  in  Hartsburg,  and  while  Mr.  War- 
wick was  quietly  journeying  along  the  road  that 
led  to  his  meeting  with  her,  matters  and  things 
in  Lagrange  were  in  a  far  from  .satisfactory  con- 
dition. 

To  begin  with  the  Marks  family,  there  was 
growing  indignation  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Marks, 
discomfiture  and  concern  on  the  part  of  his 
wife,  and  turmoil  and  complaining  on  the  part 
of  the  children,  at  the  unaccountable  absence 
of  the  governess.  Two  weeks  had  gone  by, 
without  any  sign  of  return,  or  any  word  of  ex- 
planation from  her.  Under  these  circumstan- 
ces, what  was  left  for  her  employers  to  think 
but  that  she  had  deliberately  forsaken  them  ? 
It  was  true  that  every  thing  she  possessed,  with 
the  exception  of  a  small  bag  containing  a  few 
necessary  articles  of  clothing,  had  been  left  be- 
hind ;  but  that  might  have  been  done  merely  to 
avoid  suspicion — and  then,  there  was  that  unan- 
swerable riddle,  the  money  1  Why  had  she 
drawn  it,  if  not  to  go  away  ? — why  had  she  been 
so  particular  about  demanding  gold  ?  "  It  is  as 
plain  as  a  pikestaff,"  said  Mr.  Marks,  "  that  she 
meant  to  leave  just  in  this  manner !  It  was  the 
first  suspicion  that  came  into  my  mind,  and  it 
proves  to  be  the  correct  one."  Poor  Katharine 
had  very  little  idea,  when  she  went  to  the  bank 
that  morning,  how  heavily  it  was  to  tell  against 
her  afterward,  in  the  net  that  circumstances  were 
weaving.  At  first,  Mrs.  Marks  was  stout  in  her 
defence,  but  after  a  while  she  succumbed — facts 
being  too  strong  against  her.  "  It's  that  hate- 
ful St.  John !  "  she  said,  at  last.  "  I'm  as  sure  as 
can  be  that  Miss  Katharine  has  run  away  just  to 
get  rid  of  him  ! "  It  provoked  her  that  her  hus- 
band would  not  admit  the  validity  of  this  ex- 
cuse. "  Miss  Tresham  may  have  run  away  to 
get  rid  of  Mr.  St.  John,"  he  said,  "but  it  is 


very  certain,  Bessie,  that  she  needn't  have  don« 
any  thing  of  the  kiud  if  all  had  been  straight 
and  clear  with  her.  If  he  had  no  claim  on  her, 
why  should  she  run  away  from  him  ?  "  In  the 
face  of  this  masculine  logic,  Mrs.  Marks  had  no 
reply — no  relief  but  that  of  boxing  Nelly's  ears, 
when  that  poor  little  soul  cried  piteously  for  Miss 
Tresham  to  tell  her  a  story  at  night. 

Then  there  was  another  annoyance.  Mr.  St. 
John,  who,  if  appearances  might  be  trusted, 
seemed  as  completely  puzzled  as  themselves, 
persisted  in  calling  at  the  house,  in  questioning 
the  servants,  in  accosting  Mr.  Marks,  and  in  en- 
deavoring by  every  means  in  his  power  to  find 
out  something  about  the  missing  governess.  As 
time  went  on,  this  became  a  positive  nuisance — 
and  a  nuisance  all  the  more  disagreeable  because 
Mr.  Marks  disliked  the  man,  and  Mrs.  Marks  had 
changed  her  respectful  sympathy  into  a  violent 
aversion  for  him.  In  her  eyes,  he  stood  as  the 
representative  of  the  change  that  had  given  such 
a  shock  to  her  household,  and  she  detested  him 
accordingly.  "  Will  he  never  go  away  ? "  she 
said  to  herself,  pettishly,  as,  day  after  day,  she 
saw  the  same  slender  figure,  the  same  dark,  regu- 
lar profile,  pass  and  repass  the  house.  "If  he 
would  only  go  away,  I  am  sure  Miss  Katharine 
would  come  back,  and  surely  Richard  couldn't 
refuse  to  let  her  stay."  Fortunately  for  himself, 
Mr.  Marks  was  not  put  to  the  test.  St.  John  did 
not  go  away,  and  Miss  Tresham  did  not  return. 
Morton  Annesley  called  vainly  for  news,  and  was 
always  met  by  the  same  dismal  shake  of  the 
head.  "  Not  even  a  letter,  Mrs.  Marks  ? "  he 
would  say,  with  such  a  wistful  look  in  his  eyes 
that  it  almost  betrayed  Mrs.  Marks  into  telling 
him  a  consoling  falsehood.  "  Not  even  a  letter, 
Mr.  Annesley,"  she  would  answer,  and  heave  a 
deep  sigh  as  the  young  man  went  away.  At  such 
times  her  regret  took  the  form  of  indignant  re- 
proach against  Katharine.  It  was  shameful ! — 
Richard  was  right :  it  was  shameful,  she  would 
think,  as  she  went  back  to  her  work,  and  heard 
the  children  squabbling  in  the  yard,  instead  of 
being  settled  quietly  at  their  lessons. 

As  for  Mrs.  Annesley,  she  was  simply  in- 
credulous of  this  great  good  fortune  which  had 
befallen  her.  That  Katharine  should  go  away  of 
her  own  accord — should,  without  any  embarrass- 
ing disclosure  or  trouble  whatever,  be  removed 
out  of  Morton's  life — was  more  than  she  had  ever 
hoped  in  her  most  sanguine  moments — was  far, 
far  too  good  to  be  true.  She  could  not  belieye 
it — she  absolutely  declined  to  believe  it.  Somd 
plot  was  at  the  bottom  of  it,  she  felt  sure — some- 


162 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


thing  that  would  end  by  complicating  matters 
more  seriously  than  they  had  been  complicated 
yet,  by  involving  Morton  as  he  had  not  been  in- 
volved yet.  To  describe  her  state  of  mind  dur- 
ing these  two  weeks  would  be  impossible.  The 
inaction  was  terrible  to  her,  the  doubt  and  sus- 
pense still  more  terrible.  She  went  to  see  Mrs. 
Gordon,  but  there  was  no  comfort  to  be  obtained 
there.  Mrs.  Gordon  knew  no  more  than  herself, 
but  Mrs.  Gordon  took  a  view  of  the  matter  which 
had  not  occurred  to  Mrs.  Annesley.  "  The  girl 
has  been  sent  by  St.  John  in  search  of  Felix ! " 
she  cried,  as  soon  as  she  heard  of  Katharine's 
departure,  and  only  her  own  ignorance  of  Felix's 
whereabouts  prevented  her  from  instantly  setting 
out  to  guard  him  from  this  new  danger.  As  it 
was,  she  lived  in  a  state  of  restless  terror  which 
sometimes  almost  went  beyond  her  control.  Her 
only  comfort,  her  only  hope,  was  in  John  War- 
wick. As  long  as  he  was  with  Felix,  she  felt  that 
the  cnild  was  safe.  Her  reliance  on  him  told  her 
this,  and  did  not  tell  her  wrongly.  Only  some- 
times she  would  think  with  dismay  of  his  liking 
for  Katharine,  and  wring  her  hands  over  it.  "  If 
he  once  lets  her  draw  the  secret  from  him ! "  she 
thought.  But  then,  again,  she  would  grow 
ashamed  of  this  suspicion.  Was  it  likely  he 
would  let  her  do  it  ? — was  it  likely  that,  to  the 
woman  he  loved  best,  to  the  man  whom  he 
trusted  most,  John  Warwick  would  betray  the 
confidence  given  him  as  a  sacred  charge  ?  The 
woman  who  had  once  known  him  well,  the 
woman  whom  he  had  once  loved  passionately, 
did  him  the  justice  to  answer  the  question  in  the 
negative.  No ;  John  Warwick  would  never  do 
this,  and  so  John  Warwick  was  to  be  trusted. 
But  oh,  Felix ! — Felix !  That  was  the  burden  of 
the  mother's  thought,  the  echo  of  the  mother's 
cry.  That  great  anxiety  dwarfed  every  other  con- 
sideration— even  the  consideration  of  Morton's 
folly.  She  still  felt  for  him,  and  for  the  bitter 
distress  that  was  hanging  like  a  sword  over  his 
mother's  head ;  but  still  Felix  was  at  her  heart, 
and  there  was  no  disguising  the  fact  that  she 
would  have  been  glad  to  hear  of  Miss  Tresham's 
return  to  Tallahoma,  even  although  that  return 
meant  Morton's  marriage  with  her  the  next  day. 
Under  these  circumstances,  it  may  be  sup- 
posed that  there  was  not  much  sympathy  be- 
tween herself  and  Mrs.  Annesley — yet  there  was 
more  than  might  be  imagined.  They  were  both 
Buffering  from  keen  anxiety — that  was  one  link. 
The  anxiety  of  each  was  about  the  object  dearest 
to  them  in  the  world — that  was  the  second  link. 
The  same  person,  in  each  case,  -was  the  cause  of 


this  anxiety — that  was  the  third  link.  Thes» 
things  were  much  in  common,  and  it  is  doubtfu\ 
whether  they  had  ever  in  their  lives  been  so  nearly 
drawn  together  before.  Mrs.  Gordon's  mode  of 
accounting  for  Katharine's  absence  seemed  to 
Mrs.  Annesley  plausible  enough ;  but  Felix  was 
to  her  a  person  of  small  importance — or,  to  put 
the  matter  more  correctly,  of  no  importance  at 
all — and,  accepting  her  cousin's  theory  as  a  fact, 
the  great  consideration  still  remained,  What 
would  be  the  end  of  it  with  regard  to  Morton  ? 
She  had  heard  nothing  from  St.  John,  and  she 
had  been  too  completely  worsted  to  think  of 
seeking  him  again  herself.  Besides,  she  had  a 
sort  of  instinctive  distrust  of  him — an  instinctive 
feeling  that  she  had  placed  herself  in  his  power. 
If  he  saw  Morton,  and  told  him  of  her  applica^ 
tion,  Morton  would  never  forgive  her !  This  was 
what  made  a  coward  of  her,  for  she  was  very  far 
from  being  a  subtle  diplomatist  ready  to  walk  to 
her  end  over  any  obstacles  ;  but  rather  a  woman 
weak  with  the  weakness  of  her  sex,  who,  having 
set  in  motion  certain  machinery  of  the  power  of 
which  she  had  only  a  vague  idea,  stood  by, 
shrinking  from  the  consequences  —  a  woman 
whose  hands  were  fettered,  from  the  use  of  plain 
means  to  a  plain  end,  by  a  purely  ideal  fear — the 
fear  of  losing  her  sou's  love,  and  forfeiting  her 
son's  respect. 

As  time  went  on,  Morton  was,  perhaps,  the 
person  most  to  be  compassionated.  All  the 
others  had  "themselves  to  thank,"  in  great 
measure,  for  their  uneasiness;  everybody  else 
(even  Mrs.  Gordon)  was  suffering  from  the  direct 
result  of  certain  acts  of  his  or  her  own.  But 
Morton  had  done  nothing  to  bring  upon  him- 
self the  keen  anxiety  which  he  was  enduring. 
It  may  be  perfectly  true  that  we  cry  all  the  same 
whether  we  break  our  toys  ourselves,  or  whether 
somebody  else  does  the  work  of  destruction  for 
us,  and  that  it  is  by  no  means  a  source  of  com- 
fort when  "  one  has  only  one's  self  to  blame " 
for  any  of  the  disasters  of  life ;  but,  in  the  mat- 
ter of  sympathy,  this  fact  of  personal  responsibil- 
ity makes  a  great  difference  and  justly  so.  The 
man  who  has  brought  his  trouble  upon  himself 
can,  at  best,  advance  only  half  the  claim  on  our 
sympathy,  of  one  who  suffers  through  misfortune, 
or  circumstance,  or  the  fault  of  others.  On  this 
ground,  therefore,  it  may  be  conceded  that  Mor- 
ton deserved  compassion  more  than  any  other 
of  the  circle  whose  interests  were  so  capriciously 
twisted  and  intertwined  together.  Not  on  tho 
ground  of  his  love  for  Katharine  Tresham,  nor 
of  the  suffering  which  that  love  entailed  upon 


AN  OLD  FRIEND. 


183 


kirn,  but  on  the  ground  of  his  earnest  desire  to 
"  do  the  thing  which  was  right,"  no  matter  what 
the  cost  of  that  doing  might  be;  of  his  loyal 
effort  to  reconcile  the  different  claims  that  were 
conflicting  with  him,  by  the  plain,  straight  rule 
of  honor ;  and  of  his  sincere  renunciation  of  self, 
which  deserved  a  better  return  than  had  yet  be- 
fallen it.  During  these  weeks  he  had  gone  about 
the  ordinary  affairs  of  life,  and  tried  to  meet  them 
with  his  ordinary  face ;  but,  somehow,  it  would 
not  do.  Knocking  more  and  more  painfully  at 
his  heart,  echoing  more  and  more  loudly  in  his 
ears,  he  heard  the  question,  Where  has  she 
gone  ? — what  has  become  of  her  ?  Had  she,  in- 
deed, passed  out  of  his  life  forever?  Had  he 
trifled  so  long  with  the  happiness  that  might 
have  been  his,  by  a  word,  perhaps,  that  it  had 
at  last  escaped  him  ?  Asking  himself  these 
questions,  he  took  a  sudden  resolve.  He  would 
go  in  search  of  her,  and,  having  once  found  her, 
he  would  not  leave  her  again  until  all  trifling  and 
hesitation  were  at  an  end,  until  the  fate  of  his  life 
was  settled  as  far  as  it  was  in  Katharine  Tresh- 
am's  power  to  settle  it.  Her  very  absence,  which 
told  against  her  so  strongly  in  the  eyes  of  every 
one  else,  did  not  shake  his  dogged  faith  for  an 
instant.  He  trusted  her!  That  was  his  answer 
to  all  that  the  voice  of  the  world  could  urge ; 
and,  whether  it  was  a  wise  one  or  not,  let  us  at 
least  acknowledge  that  it  was  a  noble  one. 

Having  made  up  his  mind  to  go,  Annesley  was 
not  long  in  carrying  the  design  into  execution. 
A  plausible  excuse  of  business  was  soon  found 
for  leaving  home,  and,  although  Mrs.  Annesley 
strongly  suspected  the  real  cause  of  his  depart- 
ure, she  had  no  excuse  for  saying,  no  means  of 
doing,  any  thing  to  prevent  it.  To  expostulate 
would  have  been  worse  than  useless,  and  there 
was  nothing  else  lefft  "It  comes  of  being  a 
woman,"  she  thought,  bitterly ;  but,  in  fact,  if 
she  had  been  a  man  a  hundred  times  over,  she 
could  have  thrown  no  obstacle  in  Morton's  path 
which  Morton's  impetuous  resolution  would  not 
have  surmounted.  As  a  general  rule,  women  are 
very  much  given  to  magnifying  the  disabilities 
of  their  sex,  when  these  very  disabilities  often 
make  the  secret  of  their  greatest  strength.  In 
the  present  instance,  it  was  certainly  so.  No 
tangible  restraint  which  Mrs.  Annesley  could 
possibly  have  placed  over  her  son  would  have 
bound  him  half  so  firmly,  would  have  influenced 
him  half  so  much,  as  the  intangible  restraint  of 
those  wishes  which  appealed  to  him  the  more 
because  she  had  no  power  to  enforce  them. 
Still,  he  began  to  courier  that  he  had,  perhaps, 


sacrificed  a  little  too  much  to  them  ;  and,  in 
taking  his  present  resolution,  he  put  them  ten- 
derly but  decidedly  on  one  side.  Some  instinct 
told  him  that  his  first  duty  now  was  to  the  worn 
an  he  loved,  and,  with  the  simplicity  of  thought 
and  intention  which  characterized  him,  he  set 
forth  to  fulfil  this  duty. 

It  was  on  the  sixteenth  of  January — exactly 
two  weeks  after  Katharine  left — that  Morton 
drove  out  of  the  gates  of  Annesdale,  and  turned 
his  horses'  heads  into  the  road  that  led  to  Sax- 
ford.  He  had  not  gone  more  than  a  mile  when 
he  met  George  Raynor.  Of  course,  a  pause  and 
a  conversation  ensued. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  were  rigged  out  for 
travelling,"  said  Mr.  Rayuor,  after  the  first 
greetings  were  over.  "Going  down  to  Apalat- 
ka?" 

"  No — only  to  Saxford,"  Annesley  answered. 
"I  have  to  meet  a  man  there  on  business." 
This  was  strictly  true ;  but  the  speaker  did  not 
add  that  the  man  would  willingly  have  come 
to  Lagrange.  ''  Why  should  you  think  of  Apa- 
latka  ?  Is  any  thing  going  on  down  there  ?  " 

"Nothing  that  I  know  of;  but  I  heard  you 
promise  Seymour  to  go  down  soon,  and  I  thought 
you  might  be  on  your  way  to  fulfil  the  promise. 
Maggie  Lester  went  home  yesterday,"  he  added, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  And  you  think  I  am  likely  to  be  following 
Miss  Maggie  ?  Thank  you  ;  I  don't  care  to  inter- 
fere with  Lawton's  amusement.  She  didn't  stay 
long  with  Mrs.  Raynor,  then  ?  " 

"  Her  mother  wrote  for  her — company  ex- 
pected, or  something  of  the  sort — and  she  was 
obliged  to  leave.  Flora  was  very  sorry  to  see 
her  go — chiefly,  I  think,  because  she  took  Irene 
along." 

"  Did  Miss  Irene  go  ?  "  said  Annesley,  a  lit- 
tle absently.  "  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,  and  so 
will  a  great  many  other  people  be.  But  sho 
will  be  back  soon — won't  she  ?  " 

"  Hardly  soon,  according  to  present  arrange- 
ments. Flora  is  to  join  her  in  Apalatka,  and 
they  will  go  on  to  Mobile  together.  I  fancy  La- 
grange  won't  see  either  of  them  again  very 
shortly.  I  look  forward  with  resignation  to  a 
long  period  of  "bachelor — soh,  Charley ! — You 
had  better  draw  your  horses  out  of  the  way, 
Pink  !  Here  comes  the  stage." 

Pink — the  servant  who  was  driving  Annes- 
ley— drew  his  horses  to  one  side  of  the  road  ac- 
cordingly ;  while  Charley,  who  was  young  and 
foolish,  backed  into  a  fence  -  corner,  as  the 
heavily-laden  coach,  with  its  six  horses,  its  nine 


164 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


inside  passengers,  and  one  fortunate  outsider, 
who  bud  secured  the  seat  beside  the  driver, 
rolled  by  with  a  sweeping  air  of  grand  impor- 
tance on  its  way  to  Saxford.  As  it  passed,  An- 
nesley  glanced  round  and  ran  his  eye  over  the 
passengers,  vaguely  looking  for  an  acquaintance, 
as  people  will  do,  whether  in  stage-coaches  or 
railroad-trains.  With  the  exception  of  the 
driver,  to  whom  he  nodded,  he  saw  not  one 
familiar  face — during  the  first  instant,  that  is. 
The  second  after,  a  man,  on  the  seat  opposite 
from  the  side  of  the  road  on  which  Raynor  and 
himself  were,  leaned  forward  for  a  look  at  the 
way-side  group,  and  he  recognized  St.  John. 

Long  after  the  coach  had  passed  out  of  sight, 
after  he  had  said  good-by  to  Raynor,  and  was 
once  more  under  way,  with  the  horses  trotting 
briskly  over  the  smooth,  well-beaten  road,  that 
face  remained  with  Annesley  to  conjure  up  tor- 
menting thoughts.  Why  was  St.  John  leaving 
Tallahoma  ?  Why  was  be  going  to  Saxford  ? 
What  connection  did  he  have  with  Miss  Tresh- 
am  ?  These  three  questions  formed  the  text  of 
a  mental  discourse  that  occupied  his  attention 
until  the  roofs  of  Saxford  came  in  sight,  just  as 
the  sun  was  going  down  in  a  gorgeous  bed  of 
sunset  clouds,  and  the  whole  wide  panorama  of 
Nature — its  fields,  and  valleys,  and  shaded  hill- 
sides— began  to  clothe  themselves  in  the  exqui- 
site purple  of  the  winter  gloaming. 

Annesley  drove  to  the  principal  hotel  of  the 
place,  and  found  that  the  coach  had  preceded 
him  in  its  arrival  by  an  hour  or  two.  The  first 
person  he  saw,  on  entering  the  house,  was  St. 
John.  Involuntarily  the  young  man  frowned  ; 
the  very  sight  of  the  sallow,  handsome  face  had 
grown  as  repugnant  to  him  as  to  Mr.  Marks. 
Somehow  or  other  this  man  was  connected  with 
Katharine  and  Katharine's  disappearance — ac- 
cording to  Mrs.  Gordon,  he  had  sent  her  away ; 
according  to  Mr.  Marks,  he,  at  least,  knew  where 
she  was,  and  why  she  had  gone.  In  either  view 
of  the  case,  Annesley  felt  inclined  to  take  him 
by  the  throat  and  demand  "  satisfaction  "  in  the 
form  of  information  on  the  spot.  But  the  codes 
of  civilized  life  discourage,  if  they  do  not  abso- 
lutely condemn,  such  arbitrary  proceedings  as 
these ;  and,  this  consideration  apart,  such  pro- 
ceedings are  sometimes  attended  with  unpleas- 
ant consequences.  Morton  restrained  the  in- 
clination, and  passed  on.  After  the  business  of 
obtaining  a  room  was  over,  his  first  inquiry  star- 
tled "mine  host"  a  little.  Was  there  a  Catho- 
lic priest  residing  in  Saxford  ? 

"  You're  the  second  gentleman  that's  asked 


that  question,  Mr.  Annesley,"  answered  the  pro- 
prietor, opening  his  eyes,  but  smiling  all  the 
same.  "  There  was  a  gentleman  came  in  the 
stage,  and  wanted  to  know  the  same  thing.  I 
told  him,  sir,  what  I  can  tell  you — that  there's 
no  priest  living  in  town,  but  one  comes  here 
sometimes — I  really  can't  say  how  often.  I  re- 
ferred the  other  gentleman  to  an  Irish  family, 
named  Malone,  for  information  ;  bat,  if  you  are 
anxious  to  know  any  thing  about  the  priest,  I'll 
take  pleasure  in  sending  round  and  finding  out 
every  thing  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Morton,  a  little  amused 
at  the  contrast  thus  strikingly  marked  by  the 
landlord  between  Mr.  Annesley  of  Annesdnle 
and  an  ordinary  traveller,  who  was  (so  far  as  the 
knowledge  of  that  worthy  extended)  Mr.  Nobody 
of  Nowhere.  "  I  will  trouble  you  to  find  out, 
then,  whether  the  priest  is  now  in  Saxford,  and, 
if  he  is  not,  when  he  was  here  last,  and  is  likely 
to  be  here  again.  When  the  messenger  returns, 
send  him  up  to  my  room,  if  you  please." 

Before  long,  there  was  a  tap  at  Morton's 
door,  and  the  expected  messenger  made  his  ap- 
pearance. He  was  a  bright-looking  boy,  and 
delivered  his  message  very  clearly.  He  had 
seen  Mrs.  Malone.  The  priest  was  in  town—- 
had arrived  that  evening  to  be  in  time  for  Sun- 
day— and  was  staying  with  the  Malone  family. 
On  hearing  that  a  gentleman  at  the  hotel  wished 
to  see  him,  Mrs.  Malone  had  suggested  that  it 
would  be  well  if  the  gentleman  would  defer  his 
visit  until  the  next  morning  —  the  father  had 
come  thirty  miles  that  day,  and  was  not  very 
well,  and  a  gentleman  had  already  called  on 
him.  If  the  gentleman  was  going  away,  he 
might  come  that  night,  of  course ;  but,  if  not, 
it  would  be  more  convenient  if  he  would  wait 
until  the  next  morning.  % 

"  I'll  wait,"  he  said,  absently ;  and,  after  the 
messenger  left,  he  asked  himself  what  difference 
it  made.  He  had  waited  three  weeks  in  La 
grange — why  not  wait  one  night  in  Saxford  ? 
Yet  he  felt  impatient  over  the  delay,  as  people 
will  feel  over  any  delay,  however  slight,  that  in- 
tervenes between  the  fruition  of  a  hope  or  the 
fulfilment  of  an  expectation. 

He  reasoned  with  himself  about  this  folly, 
however,  and,  after  a  while,  managed  to  recon- 
cile himself  to  ihe  charitable  opinion  that  there 
was  no  real  need  for  disturbing  Father  Martin's 
well-earned  repose  on  that  night.  One  thing,  at 
least,  he  had  gained  by  the  application.  He  had 
learned  that,  instead  of  knowing  all  about  Kath- 
arine, St.  John,  like  himself,  was  merely  on  the 


AN   OLD   FRIEND. 


165 


track  of  discovery,  and  that,  also  like  himself, 
the  first  person  to  whom  he  applied  for  informa- 
tion was  the  person  whom  Katharine  would  have 
been  most  likely  to  take  into  her  confidence — 
that  is,  the  priest. 

While  he  was  arriving  at  this  conclusion,  the 
person  of  whom  he  was  thinking  entered  the 
hotel  and  passed  directly  into  the  bar-room.  If 
Morton  had  seen  him  it  is  probable  that  he  would 
not  have  felt  encouraged  concerning  the  degree 
of  information  which  Father  Martin  was  able  or 
likely  to  give.  Discomfiture  was  written  as  legi- 
bly on  St.  John's  face  as  anger  betrayed  itself  in 
bis  manner.  On  entering  the  door  he  pushed 
rudely  against  a  man  who  chanced  to  be  stand- 
ing near,  and  did  not  trouble  himself  to  make 
even  the  ghost  of  an  apology.  Walking  for- 
ward, with  an  air  of  profound  unconsciousness, 
he  called  for  a  glass  of  brandy,  received  it,  and 
was  about  to  raise  it  to  his  lips,  when  the  man 
who  had  been  so  unceremoniously  treated  fol- 
lowed and  touched  his  arm. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  quietly,  but 
with  a  certain  tone  of  menace  in  his  voice. 
"  You  are  the  gentleman  who  came  within  an 
ace  of  knocking  me  down,  I  believe.  Did  I 
hear  you  apologize  for  it  ?  " 

St.  John  turned  quickly,  with  an  insolent 
reply  visible  in  his  eyes  before  it  passed  his 
lips.  He  was  evidently  in  that  frame  of  mind 
when  to  insult  somebody  is  nothing  less  than  a 
positive  relief.  As  it  chanced,  however,  he  had 
no  time  to  speak.  No  sooner  did  he  turn  his 
face  than  the  other  recoiled  a  step — in  sheer 
amazement,  as  it  seemed. 

"  By ! "  he  said,  "  St.  John  ! " 

Something  in  his  tone,  something  in  his  man- 
ner, struck  even  the  by-standers  with  surprise. 
They  had  looked  with  interest  the  minute  before 
— anxious  to  see  the  end  of  what  promised  to 
be  a  very  pretty  quarrel — but  the  interest  sensi- 
bly quickened  at  this  unexpected  recognition. 
Its  effect  on  St.  John  was  unmistakable.  He 
looked  keenly  for  a  second  in  the  face  before 
him — his  own  growing  a  shade  paler,  meanwhile 
— then  he  put  down,  untouched,  the  glass  of 
brandy,  and  extended  his  hand. 

"  You  I "  he  said.  "  I  had  no  idea  it  was 
yew.  I  apologize,  of  course.  Where  the  devil 
di.i  you  come  from  ?  " 

The  other  took  his  offered  hand  and  shook  it 
with  a  laugh.  After  the  first  manifestation  of 
surprise,  the  meeting  seemed  to  affect  him  very 
little,  either  one  way  or  another. 

"  Where  I  came  from  isn't  half  as  wondeiful 


as  where  you  came  from,"  he  answered.  "  Sup 
pose  we  exchange  reminiscences  at  our  leisure  ? 
Will  you  come  to  my  room  ?  You  can  take  your 
brandy  there,  and  I  will  order  some  to  keep  you 
company." 

"  All  right,"  said  St.  John ;  but  he  said  it 
reluctantly,  and,  as  he  allowed  his  companion  to 
take  hia  arm  and  lead  him  away,  the  people 
whom  he  left  behind  could  not  help  thinking 
that  this  meeting  was  to  him  any  thing  but  a 
pleasurable  event. 

They  were  quite  right,  too.  He  ground  hia 
teeth,  and  cursed  his  unlucky  fate,  as  he  fol- 
lowed the  man  who  had  claimed  his  acquaint- 
ance, up  the  steep  and  ill-lighted  staircase  of  the 
hotel.  They  entered  a  room  just  at  the  head 
of  the  flight  of  steps,  and,  while  the  proprietor 
of  the  apnrtment  fumbled  about  for  the  means 
of  striking  a  light,  St.  John  sat  down  on  the  first 
substantial  object  he  came  to,  which  chanced  to 
be  a  table,  and  was  silent. 

"  Deuce  take  the  thing !  Where  has  it 
gone  ? "  grumbled  the  one  who  was  stumbling 
about  the  room,  kicking  the  chairs,  and  finally 
knocking  down  the  pitcher  and  basin  with  a 
resounding  clatter.  "  I've  found  the  confound- 
ed candle,  but  where  the  devil  has  the  match- 
box gone!  Here — no.  D—  it,  all  the  water's 
spilled,  and  I've  stepped  right  into  it !  Pshaw ! 
I'll  get  a  light  across  the  passage  and  not  keep 
you  in  the  dark  this  way,  St.  John.  Excuse  me 
for  a  minute." 

St.  John  vouchsafed  not  a  word  as  the  speaker 
left  the  room  and  crossed  the  passage  to  a  door 
just  opposite,  under  which  a  stream  of  light  was 
visible. 

His  knock  was  answered  by  a  gentleman,  who 
opened  the  door  almost  immediately,  and  cour- 
teously acceded  to  his  request.  He  returned  to 
a  table  in  the  room,  and  brought  from  it  a  can- 
dle with  which  to  light  the  one  presented.  As 
he  did  so  his  face  was  fully  exposed  to  view,  and 
St.  John,  sitting  in  the  darkness  of  the  oppo- 
site room,  recognized  Annesley.  Instinctively 
he  drew  a  little  farther  back  into  the  friendly 
shade.  At  that  particular  time,  and  under 
those  particular  circumstances,  he  had  no  desire 
to  be  recognized  in  return.  There  was  no  dan- 
ger of  this,  however,  for  his  position  effectually 
shielded  him ;  and,  besides  this,  Morton's  atten- 
tion was  occupied  just  then  with  the  man  before 
him.  As  he  brought  forward  the  candle  some- 
thing like  recognition  was  plainly  to  be  seen  in 
his  face — was  evidently  struggling  to  assert  itself 
in  his  mind.  As  the  stranger  held  his  candle  to 


166 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


the  flame,  and  the  light  thus  fell  on  his  face,  the 
recognition  suddenly  became  clear. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  I  did  not  know  you  at  first.  Dr.  Joyner,  is  it 
not?" 

Dr.  Joyner — for  it  was  indeed  he — looked 
w  ith  a  start  into  the  face  before  him ;  then,  ac- 
cording to  his  invariable  custom,  shifted  his  eyes 
back  to  the  candle. 

"  You  are  right.  Joyner  is  my  name,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  believe  you  have  the  advantage  of 
me,  sir." 

"  That  is  natural,"  said  Morton,  smiling  a 
little.  "I  never  saw  you  but  once — but  my 
memory  is  good  for  faces.  I  was  down  in  Apa- 
latka  about  six  months  ago,  and,  in  passing 
through  Hartsburg,  I  called  at  your  office  to  get 
a  prescription  for  a  sprained  wrist.  You  may 
not  remember  the  occurrence,  but,  as  soon  as  I 
saw  your  face,  it  came  back  to  me." 

"  Doctors  see  so  many  people  that  they  may 
be  pardoned  for  having  poor  memories,"  said  the 
other,  apologetically.  "  I  think  I  remember  you, 
though,"  he  went  on,  looking  again  at  the  young 
man.  "  You  were  with  Mr.  Seymour,  I  believe, 
and  he  introduced  you  as  Mr.  Annesley,  of  La- 
grange." 

"  The  same,"  said  Morton.  "  Your  lotion  did 
my  wrist  a  great  deal  of  good,"  he  added,  with 
the  frankness  that  sat  very  winningly  upon  him. 
"  Won't  you  come  in  ?  I  should  like  to  hear 
something  of  Apalatka  and  my  friends  down 
there." 

"  I  regret — I  am  sorry — it  would  give  me 
great  pleasure,"  said  the  doctor,  stammering,  as 
he  bowed  over  his  candlestick,  "  but  I  left  a 
friend  in  my  room — in  the  dark,  too,  poor  fel- 
low ! — and  he  is  waiting  for  me  to  return.  Other- 
wise— "  Another  bow  completed  the  sentence." 

"  In  that  case  I  can't  expect  to  detain  you, 
of  course,"  said  Morton.  "  Good-evening." 

When  the  doctor  went  back  into  his  own 
com  his  face  wore  an  expression  of  mingled  sur- 
prise and  amusement,  which  at  once  attracted 
St.  John's  attention  and  roused  his  curiosity. 

"  You  seem  to  be  enjoying  something  amaz- 
ingly," he  said.  "  Considering  that  the  brandy 
hasn't  come  yet,  you  might  as  well  let  me  know 
what  it  is.  One  thing  is  certain  " — with  a  look 
of  disgust  around — "  I  don't  see  much  in  the 
ray  of  amusement  here." 

"  I  am  only  enjoying  a  new  illustration  of  an 
old  proverb,"  said  the  other,  putting  the  candle- 
stick on  a  rickety  table  that  was  on  one  side  of 
the  room,  with  a  cracked  looking-glass  hanging 


over  it.  "  Did  you  ever  chance  to  hear  that  a 
prophet  is  never  without  honor  save  in  his  own 
country  ? '  Well,  I've  just  had  an  example  of 
that.  For  want  of  something  better  to  do,  I  have 
been  trying  my  hand  lately  at  the  healing  art,  and 
the  result  was  by  no  means  as  brilliant  as  I  could 
have  wished.  The  other  doctors  in  the  place 
where  I  settled  were  jealous  of  me,  a  few  un- 
pleasant accidents  attended  my  practice,  a  man 
or  two  died — don't  men  die  sometimes  under  the 
hands  of  regular  M.  D.'s  ? — and  the  consequence 
was  that  the  people  raised  an  uproar,  and  I  had 
to  leave — absolutely,  my  dear  St.  John,  I  had  to 
leave,  in  preference  to  being  mobbed.  Think 
what  a  state  of  barbarism  this  horrible  country 
is  in  !  Well,  I  left  the  place — Hartsburg  is  its 
name — under  those  circumstances,  and  I  come 
here,  and  the  first  person  I  meet  compliments 
—  actually  compliments  —  me  on  my  medical 
skill!" 

"  That  young  fellow  across  the  passage  ?  " 

"  Yes — did  you  see  him  ?  Fine-looking,  isn't 
he  ?  One  of  the  first  men  in  the  country  round 
about  here,  I  believe.  I  met  him,  as  he  remind- 
ed me,  in  Hartsburg,  with  a  Mr.  Seymour,  a 
wealthy  planter  who  lives  in  the  county  of 
which  Hartsburg  is  the  seat.  He  had  sprained 
his  wrist,  and  I  gave  him  a  lotion  for  it.  He 
says  it  worked  exceflently." 

"  Then  why  couldn't  you  prescribe  for  your 
other  patients  as  well  ?  " 

Dr.  Joyner  indulged  in  a  laugh — quiet,  but 
of  considerable  depth  and  evident  enjoyment. 

"I  sprained  my  own  wrist  once,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  got  this  prescription  for  it  from  a  doc- 
tor. You  see  it's  useful  never  to  forget  any 
thing." 

"  And  you  practised  medicine  en  the  strength 
of  knowing  one  prescription  ?  Well" — with  an 
impatient  movement — "I  suppose  it  was  as  good 
a  trade  as  any  other  that  you  were  likely  to  drift 
into.  What  did  you  leave  the  old  country  for  ?  " 

"  Humph !  "  said  the  doctor,  looking  at  him 
askance.  "  What  did  you  leave  it  for  ?  " 

"  That's  easily  answered — because  I  felt  dis- 
posed to  do  so." 

"  Oh,  you  did,  did  you  ?  Well,  then,  there's 
a  good  deal  of  diiference  between  us.  I  left 
because  the  police  were  so  unusually  pressing  in 
their  attentions,  jjust  then,  that  I  had  no  alterna- 
tive but  to  do  so.  *I  made  the  narrowest  slip  of 
the  galleys  imaginable,"  said  he,  growing  pale, 
notwithstanding  his  lightness  of  tone.  "  Ma 
foi  I  it  would  be  delightful  to  be  number  nine 
of  a  chain-gang  just  now  !  Practising  medicine 


AN   OLD   FRIEND. 


167 


it  the  expense  of  the  good  people  of  Hartsburg  is 
quite  an  improvement  on  that.  Do  you  object  to 
my  leaving  you  for  a  minute  ?  I'll  step  to  the 
door  and  call  for  that  brandy.  In  a  place  like 
this  you  have  to  assert  yourself,  or  the  rascals 
will  neglect  you." 

St.  John  making  no  objection,  Dr.  Joyner  pro- 
ceeded to  step  to  the  door  and  assert  himself. 
Having  shouted  for  some  time,  he  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  bringing  up  the  brandy,  and  half  a 
dozen  people  besides,  anxious  to  know  if  the 
house  was  on  fire.  After  reassuring  them  on 
this  point,  he  coolly  relieved  the  servant  of  the 
brandy,  shut  the  door  in  the  faces  of  the  others, 
and  returned  to  St.  John. 

"  There,  now  !  "  said  he,  setting  the  bottle 
and  two  glasses  which  accompanied  it  down  on 
the  table.  "  I  call  this  comfortable — two  old 
friends  and  good  comrades  drinking  each  other's 
health  in  elegant  seclusion.  You'll  find  water  in 
that  pitcher  there,  St.  John — confound  it !  I  for- 
got it  was  spilt.  Shall  I  call  for  more  ?  " 

"  Not  on  my  account,"  said  St.  John,  resign- 
edly. "  I  don't  care  to  bring  up  half  the  house- 
hold again.  Sit  down,"  he  went  on,  impatiently. 
"  Something  is  on  your  mind — I've  seen  that 
from  the  first.  Speak  it  out,  and  have  done." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  the  other,  sitting 
down  and  composedly  draining  a  glass  of  spirits. 
"  You  haven't  told  me  yet  how  you  came  here," 
he  added,  with  a  sudden  furtive  glance  at  his 
companion's  face.  "  One  good  turn  deserves 
another.  I've  been  frank  with  you — now  be 
frank  with  me.  Has  the  pretty  little  game  of 
rouge  et  noir  done  for  you  also  ?  " 

"  I'm  here  on  business,"  said  St.  John,  ir- 
ritably. "  I  thought  I  told  you  that.  What  is 
the  good  of  i  being  so  d — d  inquisitive  ?  I 
haven't  been  in  America  more  than  a  month  or 
two,  and  I  shall  not  stay  an  hour  longer  than  I 
can  possibly  help." 

"  Are  you  very  closely  occupied  just  now  ?  " 

"  That  depends  on  circumstances.  Why  do 
you  ask  ?  " 

The  other  looked  over  his  shoulder  nervously 
at  the  door.  Then  drew  his  chair  a  little  nearer. 
"  Would  you  be  willing  to  run  a  small  risk  for  a 
great  reward  ?  "  he  asked,  quickly. 

"  That  depends,"  said  St.  John,  watching  him 
eoolly ;  "  both  on  the  degree  of  risk,  and  the 
amount  of  the  reward." 

"  The  risk  is  hardly  worth  considering,  and 
Ihe  amount  is  that  of  a  moderate  fortune.  In 
one  word,  St.  John,  can  I  depend  on  you,  or  can 
1  not  ?  This  thing  has  been  on  my  mind  for 


some  time,  and  I  have  been  considering  day  and 
night  how  I  could  manage  it  without  any  assist- 
ance; but  when  I  saw  you,  the  problem  was 
solved  for  me.  I  said  at  once,  '  There  is  the 
man  in  the  very  nick  of  time.  If  his  head's  aa 
cool  and  his  wits  are  as  sharp  as  they  used  to  be, 
I've  nothing  more  to  fear.'  " 

"  I  don't  stand  in  any  need  of  a  dose  of  flat- 
tery," said  St.  John.  "  Affairs  are  desperate 
with  me  just  now,  and  I  am  ready  for  any  thing 
that  won't  put  my  neck  in  a  noose.  A  person 
on  whom  I  depended  has  just  given  me  the  slip 
in  the  most  complete  manner.  A  scheme  on 
which  I  have  been  building  is  likely  to  come  to 
nothing,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  and  so — pass 
the  brandy,  and  let  me  hear  your  plan." 

"  It's  not  a  thing  to  describe  in  a  place  lik« 
this,"  said  the  other,  glancing  round  again.  "  If 
we  talk  about  it  at  all,  it  must  be  in  French, 
"  You  don't  object,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  Listen  then,"  said  he,  plunging  at  once  into 
French,  and  speaking  with  an  ease  and  fluency 
which  proved  his  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
language.  "  Before  I  left  Hartsburg,  I  chanced 
to  hear  that  a  bank  of  importance,  which  is  es- 
tablished there,  was  about  to  send  a  large  amount 
of  specie  for  distribution  among  its  various 
branch  banks.  I  did  not  pay  much  attention 
one  way  or  another  to  the  report,  until,  in  com- 
ing to  Saxford,  I  travelled  with  a  man  who  is 
well  known  to  be  the  messenger  intrusted  with 
the  money.  This  fact,  and  my  own  desperate 
condition,  soon  made  me  think  that  here  was  an 
excellent  opportunity  of  fortune,  only  needing  a 
man  of  courage  and  nerve  to  seize  it.  The  cour- 
age and  nerve  I  had,  my  dear  St.  John,  but  1 
needed  a  few  other  things — a  little  assistance, 
principally.  The  undertaking  is  too  great  for 
one  person  to  attempt.  I  needed  a  comrade  to 
share  the  risk  and — the  reward.  As  soon  as  I 
saw  you,  I  thought  '  Here  is  my  man.'  It's  for 
you  to  say  whether  or  not  I  was  right." 

"I  have  heard  the  object,"  said  St.  John, 
coolly.  "  How  about  the  means  ?  " 

"  The  means  are  as  plain  as  could  be  desired. 
The  messenger  is  at  present  on  his  way  to  Talla- 
homa,  where  the  specie  will  be  lodged  in  the 
bank  until  opportunities  are  found  for  forward- 
ing it  to  the  other  branches.  Now,  I  have  been 
in  Tallahoma,  and  I  have  seen  this  bank.  Writa 
me  down  a  fool,  my  dear  St.  John,  if  it  would  not 
be  as  easy  to  enter  it  as  to  walk  out  of  this  room. 
See  here ! " 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  morocco  case  of 


168 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


moderate  size,  touched  a  spring,  and,  as  it  flew 
open,  he  held  it  out  for  the  inspection  of  the 
other. 

"  What  would  you  call  that,  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

St  John  regarded  it  superciliously,  as  he 
answered,  "  I  should  call  it  a  box  of  tooth-instru- 
ments. Have  you  been  practising  dentistry  as 
well  as  physic  ?  " 

"A  little.  I  fleshed  this"— he  held  up  to 
St.  John's  recoiling  sight  a  formidable-looking 
pair  of  forceps — "  in  the — " 

"  Spare  me  a  description  of  the  operation,  I 
beg,"  interrupted  the  other,  with  unconcealed 
disgust  "  What  have  these  things  to  do  with 
the  subject  you  were  talking  of?  " 

"  Don't  be  impatient,  and  you  shall  hear. 
You  would  call  it  a  box  of  tooth-instruments, 
would  you  ?  Well,  you're  not  to  blame  there — 
and  that's  the  beauty  of  it.  Anybody  would 
call  it  the  same  thing.  But  now — I'll  show 
you." 

So  saying,  he  took  the  instruments  from  the 
box,  then,  with  great  care,  removed  the  red- 
velvet  cushion  on  which  they  had  rested,  and 
which  turned  out  to  be  a  false  bottom,  beneath 
which  was  a  cavity  containing  a  dozen  or  more 
of  eccentric-shaped  implements,  the  use  of  which 
it  would  have  puzzled  an  ordinary  observer  to 
conjecture.  It  did  not  puzzle  St.  John  in  the 
least. 

"  You  are  well  supplied,"  he  remarked,  with 
a  grim  smile. 

"  You  may  say  so  !  Look  at  that,  now,  will 
you  ?  " 

He  lifted  a  small  saw,  made  of  the  finest 
watch-spring  steel,  and  exhibited  it,  handling  it 
with  the  same  caressing  touch  which  a  painter, 
who  has  not  used  his  brushes  for  some  time,  be- 
stows on  those  beloved  servitors  of  his  more 
beloved  art,  or  with  which  a  musician  passes  his 
hand  over  the  strings  or  keys  of  his  favorite  in- 
strument. 

"  That  walks  through  iron  with  the  same  ease 
that  a  good  carpenter's  saw  passes  through 
wood!"  cried  he,  with  enthusiasm.  "And 
here — "  He  went  on  to  expatiate  upon  the 
excellence  of  various  of  #he  implements,  and 
the  virtues  of  the  box  itself.  "  You  observe," 
he  said,  "  that  there  is  room  here  for  other  mat- 
ters besides  these  useful  little  gentlemen.  I 
keep  any  papers  of  importance,  that  it  might 
not  be  advisable  to  have  about  me,  here  too." 

"  It  is  a  good  idea,"  said  St.  John,  absently. 
"  But  about  this  bank."  He  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  looked  up  with  something  like  a 


flash  in  his  eye  "  The  man  who  is  responsible 
— the  cashier,  I  believe  they  cill  him — is  named 
Marks,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  I — yes,  I  believe  so.  I  didn't  pay  much 
attention  to  his  name.  What  has  that  got  to  do 
with  it  ?  " 

"  It  has  to  do  with  it  that  he  is  an  unman- 
nered  scoundrel,  who  has  gone  out  of  his  way 
to  insult  me  on  one  or  two  occasions,"  an- 
swered St.  John,  vindictively.  "  If  it's  hig  bank 
that  you  want  to  rob,  I'll  help  you,  with  the 
greatest  pleasure,  on  the  understanding  that  we 
share  the  spoils  fairly.  But  I  can  tell  you  that 
you  will  have  to  be  very  cautious  in  your  ar- 
rangements." 

"  We  will  discuss  them  now,"  said  the  other, 
eagerly.  "  Help  yourself  to  the  brandy,  and  then 
we  can  plan  the  campaign." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

FATHER   MARTIN. 

EARLY  the  next  morning — as  early  as  was  at 
all  compatible  with  civilized  habits — Annesley 
set  forth  to  pay  his  visit  to  the  Catholic  priest. 
Having  been  carefully  directed  with  regard  to 
the  whereabouts  of  the  Malone  house,  he  had  no 
difficulty  in  finding  it,  and,  when  he  came  to  a 
plain  two-story  building,  with  the  usual  four  sides, 
and  the  usual  long  piazzas,  set  back  from  the 
street  in  a  green  yard,  he  knew  at  once  that 
it  was  the  place  of  which  he  was  in  search. 
His  knock  at  the  front  door  was  answered  by 
a  pleasant-looking  woman,  with  an  unmistakably 
Irish  face,  and  still  more  unmistakably  Irish 
accent.  Hearing  that  he  was  "  the  gentleman  to 
see  the  priest,"  she  asked  him  to  walk  in. 

"  Father  Martin  went  into  the  garden  for  a 
walk,"  she  said.  "  I  will  send  one  of  the  chil- 
dren to  tell  him  you  are  here." 

"  It  would  be  a  pity  to  bring  him  in,"  said 
Annesley,  smiling,  and  winning  her  heart  at  once 
by  his  face  and  manner.  "  Can't  I  go  to  him  ? 
I  have  only  a  few  words  to  say,  and  I  need  not 
disturb  his  walk  very  long  to  say  them." 

"  I — yes,  sir ;  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  go,"  answered  Mrs.  Malone,  after  a 
moment's  besitaUpn.  "  Straight  across  the  yard 
— yonder  is  the  garden-gate.  It  can't  be  long 
before  you  find  the  father ;  he's  walking  in  there 
somewhere." 

Annesley  thanked  her,  and  went  his  way.  A 
path  led  across  the  yard  to  the  gate  of  which  she 


FATHER   MARTIN 


1G9 


had  spoken.  Opening  it,  he  found  himself  in  a 
garden,  which  was  not  very  much  of  a  place  in 
the  way  of  size  or  arrangement,  but  which  had  a 
certain  attraction,  seen  under  that  bright  morn- 
ing sky,  with  the  sun  shining  gayly  across  the 
cabbages  and  rose-bushes,  the  birds  twittering 
and  trilling  in  every  tree,  and  the  fresh  odor  of 
newly-turned  earth  from  some  spaded  beds. 
But  the  chief  beauty  of  the  place  was  in  the 
prospect  beyond — a  glorious  panorama  of  open 
country  spreading  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see ;  a 
sweep  of  level  fields  near  at  hand  ;  then  hills 
and  valleys  farther  off,  mingling  and  blending,  as 
only  Nature's  perspective  can  blend,  gleams  of 
brightness  and  patches  of  shade,  clouds  drift- 
ing, delicious  "  bits  "  of  harmony  and  contrast 
everywhere,  and  a  breadth  of  landscape,  impos- 
sible to  describe,  stretching  to  the  verge  of  the 
horizon,  where  it  was  edged  by  a  fringe  of  dis- 
tant forest. 

Annesley  was  charmed  ;  but'he  did  not  have 
time  to  indulge  the  luxury  of  sight  as  he  would 
have  liked.  He  gave  one  minute  to  admiration, 
then  looked  round  for  the  object  of  his  search. 
It  was  not  long  before  he  discerned  a  black  figure 
walking  up  and  down  under  a  trellis,  which  cov- 
ered one  of  the  walks,  and  was  overrun  by  a 
grape-vine.  Advancing  to  the  nearest  entrance, 
he  saw  a  man  of  middle  age  and  decidedly  sacer- 
dotal aspect — a  man  who  wore  a  black  cassock, 
and  was  reading  from  a  well-worn  breviary — 
advancing  toward  him.  As  they  came  within  a 
few  feet  of  each  other,  the  priest  looked  up. 
Morton  took  off  his  hat,  and  introduced  himself 
at  once. 

"  My  name  is  Annesley,"  he  said.  "  I  call  by 
appointment.  Mrs.  Malone  told  me  I  should  find 
Mr.  Martin  here." 

"I  am  Mr.  Martin,"  answered  the  ecclesias- 
tic, courteously.  He  closed  his  book,  and,  com- 
ing a  step  nearer,  offered  his  hand.  "  Your  name 
is  not  unknown  to  me,  Mr.  Annesley,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  glad  to  meet  you.  Is  there  any  thing  I 
can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  You  can  be  kind  enough  to  answer  a  few 
questions  for  me,"  Annesley  replied.  "  May  I — 
but  are  you  at  leisure  to  attend  to  me  now  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  at  leisure,"  answered  the  other. 
"  I  remained  at  home  this  morning  because  I  ex- 
pected your  call.  I  was  only  reading  my  office 
— you  don't  disturb  me  in  the  least.  Shall  we 
return  to  the  house,  or  will  you  sit  down  here  ? 
The  air  is  delightful." 

"  If  you  do  not  object,  let  us  remain  here, 
by  all  means.  Is  it  necessary,  though,  that  I 


should  interrupt  your  walk  ?  I  should  be  aorry 
to  do  so." 

"  Join  me,  then,"  said  Father  Martin,  smil- 
ing. Like  everybody  else,  he  was  attracted  by 
that  gift  of  pleasing  which  the  young  man  pos- 
sessed in  such  remarkable  degree — that  happy 
mingling  of  courtesy  and  frankness  which  came 
to  him  by  nature,  and  for  which  he  did  not  de- 
serve half  as  much  credit  as  he  obtained.  "  Exer- 
cise, fortunately,  does  not  interfere  with  conver- 
sation." 

Annesley  was  ready  enough  to  take  him  at 
his  word.  A  great  many  people  can  testify  from 
experience  that,  when  one  has  an  awkward  ques- 
tion to  ask,  or  a  disagreeable  answer  to  render, 
to  ask  the  one,  or  give  the  other,  in  the  course 
of  pedestrian  or  any  other  sort  of  exercise,  is 
infinitely  preferable  to  a  cold-blooded  interview 
face  to  face,  and  eye  to  eye.  By  this  time,  Mor- 
ton began  to  feel  that  he  was  in  rather  an  awk- 
ward position.  After  all,  what  excuse  could  he 
give,  what  right  did  he  have,  to  be  making  these 
inquiries  about  Miss  Tresham  ?  If  Father  Mar- 
tin chose  to  "  take  him  up  "  sharply,  what  could 
he  say  in  self-defence  ?  He  had  literally  no  ex- 
cuse to  offer,  literally  no  right  to  show.  Yet  he 
was  in  for  it  now  ;  and  he  cleared  his  throat,  and 
dashed  at  the  heart  of  his  subject  without  any 
preliminary. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  be  surprised  by  what  I 
am  about  to  say,"  he  began.  "  I  believe  you 
know  Miss  Tresham  quite  well.  Are  you  aware 
that  she  has  left  Tallahoma  suddenly  and  very 
mysteriously  ?  " 

"  I  was  told  so  yesterday,"  answered  the 
priest,  gravely.  "  If  it  is  of  Miss  Tresham  that 
you  have  come  to  speak,  Mr.  Annesley,  you  may 
rest  assured  that  my  attention  is  at  your  com- 
mand." 

"  Your  attention  !  "  said  Annesley.  They 
had  not  taken  more  than  half  a  dozen  steps; 
but  he  stopped  short,  and  turned  round  upon 
the  other.  "  Your  attention  ! "  he  repeated. 
"  Excuse  me ;  but  is  nothing  else  at  my  com- 
mand ?  Is  it — is  it  possible  you  do  not  know 
where  she  is  ?  " 

"  Until  yesterday  evening,  I  was  not  even 
aware  that  she  had  left  Tallahoma.  Of  course, 
therefore,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  know  where 
she  is." 

"  You  have  not  seen  her  ?  " 

"  Not  since  before  Christmas." 

"  You  have  not  heard  from  her  ?  " 

"  I  have  not." 

Annesley  looked  helplessly  at  him.     He  did 


170 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


not  know  what  to  do  or  say  next.  He  had  been 
so  sure  that  Father  Martin  had  seen  Katharine, 
BO  sure  that  he  knew  where  she  was,  that  this 
unexpected  obstacle,  this  barrier  of  complete 
ignorance,  seemed  all  at  once  to  end  every 
thing. 

"It  is  no  temporary  absence.  She  is  gone — 
gone  for  good  !  "  he  thought,  and,  thus  thinking, 
grew  so  pale  that  the  priest  felt  sorry  for  him, 
and,  extending  his  hand,  touched  his  arm. 

"  Be  frank  with  me,  Mr.  Annesley,"  he  said, 
kindly.  "  Believe  me,  you  can  feel  no  interest  in 
Miss  Tresham  which  I  do  not  share.  The  news 
which  I  heard  yesterday  evening,"  he  went  on, 
"  cost  me  a  sleepless  night.  I  do  not  understand 
the  matter,  as  yet.  Will  you  try  to  explain  ?  " 

"There  is  nothing  that  can  be  explained," 
said  Annesley,  looking  very  downcast.  "  Miss 
Tresham  has  left,  nobody  knows  why,  and  gone, 
nobody  knows  where.  That  is  why  I  came  to 
you,  sir.  Her  friends  in  Tallahoma  are  very 
anxious  about  her ;  and  I  thought  you  must  cer- 
tainly have  seen  her,  would  certainly  have  known 
where  she  went.  When  she  left,  the  impression 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marks  was  that  she  had  come 
to  Saxford  to  see  you." 

"  When  did  she  come  ?  " 

"  This  day — no,  yesterday,  two  weeks  ago — 
the  second  of  January." 

"  I  told  her,  when  I  saw  her  in  December, 
that  I  might  be  here  on  the  Sunday  following 
that  date.  Unfortunately,  I  was  prevented  from 
coming.  Well,  Mr.  Annesley,  has  she  not  re- 
turned to  Tallahoma  since  ?  " 

"  No  ;  she  has  not  returned." 

"  Nor  written  ?  " 

"  Not  a  line." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Father  Martin  ;  and  he 
walked  along  silently  for  some  time,  his  hands, 
which  still  held  the  breviary,  clasped  behind 
his  back,  and  his  eyes  absently  fastened  on  the 
scene  outspread  before  him.  "  There  is  one 
thing,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  Can  Miss  Tresham's 
employers  throw  no  light  on  her  absence  ?  Did 
she  give  them  no  explanation  of  why  she 
went?" 

"  She  did  not  tell  them — that  is,  she  did  not 
tell  Mrs.  Marks — any  thing  excepting  that  she 
was  going,  and  that  she  would  be  back  on  the 
following  Monday." 

Aunesley  spoke  very  quietly,  for  he  felt  in- 
tensely depressed  and  despondent ;  but  he  was 
startled  by  the  expression  that  came  over  Father 
Martin's  face  at  his  last  words.  This  time,  it 
was  he  who  stopped  short  in  his  walk,  and  looked 


with  wonder — it  might  almost  have  seemed  with 
alarm — at  the  other. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  she  said  she  would  be 
back  on  Monday  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Morton,  with  some  sur- 
prise. "  She  certainly  told  Mrs.  Marks  that  she 
would  be  back  on  Monday.  I  was  in  the  house 
an  hour  or  two  after  she  left  it ;  and  this  assu' 
ance  was  given  to  me  at  the  time,  and  repeatt 
since." 

"That  settles  the  matter,  then,  Mr.  Annes- 
ley," said  the  priest,  with  decision.  "  If  Miss 
Tresham  told  Mrs.  Marks  that  she  would  be 
back  on  Monday,  you  may  be  sure  that  she  in- 
tended to  return  on  that  day — you  may  be  cer- 
tain that  something  which  she  did  not  foresee  in 
leaving  Tallahoma  has  alone  prevented  her  doing 
so." 

"  But—" 

"  But  is  it  possible  you  can  know  Miss  Tresh- 
am, and  doubt  this  ? "  interrupted  the  other, 
looking  at  him  keenly. 

"  I  have  trusted,  I  do  trust  Miss  Tresham  im- 
plicitly," said  Morton,  simply.  "  I  see  that  you 
are  right — I  see  that  this  assertion  of  hers  amply 
proves  that  in  leaving  Tallahoma  she  left  it  with 
the  intention  of  returning.  Evidently,  however, 
she  changed  that  intention." 

"  Evidently  she  was  made  to  change  it." 

"  You  mean — " 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Mr.  Annesley,  before  I  tell 
you  what  I  mean.  I  have  answered  several  of 
your  questions.  I  shall  ask  you  now  to  answer 
one  of  mine.  Suppose  we  sit  down  ?  After  all, 
I  believe  it  is  more  convenient  to  be  seated  when 
a  conversation  like  this  is  going  on." 

He  did  not  wait  for  Annesley  to  accede  to  his 
proposal,  but,  taking  the  liberty  which  social 
custom  grants  an  older  man,  sat  down  on  a 
bench  placed  at  the  end  of  the  trellis,  and  mo- 
tioned the  other  to  a  place  beside  him. 

Morton  instantly  obeyed. 

The  awkwardness  of  the  first  meeting  was 
entirely  worn  off  by  this  time,  and  his  eager- 
ness had  reached  such  a  point  that  he  would 
probably  have  stood  on  his  head  if  Father  Mar- 
tin had  made  that  a  condition  for  gratifying 
this  eagerness.  Their  position  would  have  en- 
raptured an  artist.  The  trellis  behind  them 
broke  the  direcbbeams  of  the  sun  without  exact- 
ly shading  them,  while  the  beautiful  scene,  with 
its  purple  hills  and  distant  forests,  its  shifting 
shadows  and  winsome  brightness,  lay  like  a  pic- 
ture at  their  feet.  Yet  how  little  either  of  them 
heeded  it !  For  all  the  thoughts  they  gave,  it 


FATHER   MARTIN. 


171 


might  have  been  as  desolate  as  Sahara  or  as 
bleak  as  Siberia !  And,  in  the  face  of  this,  we 
turn  round  churlishly  and  cry  out  upon  Nature 
that  she  does  not  sympathize  with  us  —  that, 
in  our  moments  of  brightness,  she  sometimes 
weeps ;  and,  in  our  mourning,  often  smiles  1 

"  You  know  Miss  Tresham  quite  well,  I  be- 
lieve," said  the  priest,  after  a  momentary  pause. 
"  Will  you  tell  me  (I  do  not  ask  the  question 
without  a  reason)  if  you  know  the  history  of  her 
life?" 

"  I  know  nothing  of  her  life,  excepting  that 
she  is  a  West-Indian  by  birth,  and  that  she 
lived  in  England  as  a  governess,"  Annesley  an- 
swered. 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  her  speak  of  Mr.  St. 
John  ?  " 

Morton  hesitated  a  moment  before  replying. 

"  I  have  never  heard  her  speak  of  Mr.  St. 
John,"  he  said,  at  length,  "  but  I  met  her  once 
when — when  she  was  with  him.  Circumstances 
made  it  necessary  that  she  should  introduce  us. 
I  know  nothing  more  than  that." 

"  You  never  asked  any  thing  more  ?  " 

"  If  I  had  felt  disposed  to  do  so — which  I  did 
not — whom  could  I  have  asked  ?  " 

"  Miss  Tresham  herself,  perhaps." 

The  young  man  colored  suddenly  and  deeply. 

"  You  don't  know  me,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I  can't 
be  offended,  therefore,  that  you  should  think  I 
might  have  been  guilty  of  such  an  impertinence. 
But  you  do  know  Miss  Tresham.  You  know 
whether  she  is  the  sort  of  woman  with  whom  one 
would  be  likely  to  take  a  liberty." 

The  priest  smiled  with  a  genial  expression 
that  lit  up  pleasantly  his  strong  Irish  face. 

"  Your  punctilio  does  you  no  discredit,  Mr. 
Annesley,"  he  said,  "  but  I  assure  you  I  made 
the  inquiry  without  supposing  for  a  moment  that 
you  had  been  guilty  of  an  impertinence,  or  that 
Miss  Tresham  would  permit  a  liberty.  I  may  in- 
terpret your  answer,  then,  to  mean  that  you  are 
in  complete  ignorance  of  every  thing  about  Mr. 
St.  John  save  the  mere  fact  of  his  existence." 

"  I  could  scarcely  be  ignorant  of  that,"  said 
Annesley,  smiling  in  turn,  "  since  I  have  been 
reminded  of  it  very  recently.  Do  you  know  that 
he  is  in  Saxford  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  visit  from  him  yesterday." 

"  And  does  he  know  nothing  of  Miss  Tresh- 
am?" 

"  What  he  knows,  Mr.  Annesley,  I  am  unable 
to  say.  What  he  told  me  I  violate  no  confidence 
in  telling  you.  He  came  to  me,  as  you  have 
ione,  for  information  about  Miss  Tresham." 


"  And  you  told  him—  ?  " 

"  That  I  had  none  to  give  him.  I  did  not 
ask  Mr.  St.  John  to  walk  in  the  garden,"  he 
added,  significantly,  "  and  our  interview  was 
quite  brief — confined  merely  to  a  business-like 
interchange  of  question  and  answer." 

There  was  a  silence  after  this. 

Morton  hesitated  what  to  say  next,  and  per- 
haps the  priest  hesitated  also.  Frankly  as  they 
had  spoken,  willing  as  they  were  to  meet  each 
other's  advances,  there  was  a  barrier  of  reserve 
still  between  them — a  barrier  raised  by  the  igno- 
rance of  the  one  and  the  knowledge  of  the  other. 

It  was  Annesley  who,  with  characteristic 
impetuosity,  dashed  straight  at  this. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  there  is  a  great  difference 
between  us.  I  know  nothing  about  Miss  Tresh- 
am's  life,  and  you  probably  know  every  thing. 
Under  these  circumstances,  I  should  like  to  ask 
one  question,  and  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would 
answer  it." 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  ask  nothing  that  I  ought 
not  to  answer,  Mr.  Annesley." 

"  No,  I  hope  not.  My  question  is  simply 
this :  Does  your  knowledge  give  you  any  real 
advantage  over  my  ignorance?  Does  it  enable 
you  to  form  an  idea  why  Miss  Tresham  did  not 
return  to  Tallahoma,  and  where  she  has  gone  ?  " 

Father  Martin  thought  a  moment.  The  young 
man  had  certainly  gone  straight  to  the  only  im- 
portant point  —  the  only  thing  that  made  the 
difference  between  them  of  any  moment.  After 
a  while  he  answered  : 

"  No,  Mr.  Annesley,  I  cannot  say  that  my 
knowledge  enables  me  to  form  any  clear  idea 
why  Miss  Tresham  did  not  return  to  Tallahoma, 
and  it  assuredly  does  not  tell  me  where  she  has 
gone.  Thus  far  we  stand  on  equal  ground.  Of 
course,  I  have  certain  suspicions  —  but  so,  I 
fancy,  have  you.  Can  you  tell  me  whether  Mr. 
St.  John  has  been  in  Tallahoma  during  the  whole 
of  these  two  weeks  ?  " 

"  He  has  not  left  the  town  for  a  day  until 
yesterday." 

"  The  next  thing,"  said  Father  Martin,  rising 
to  his  feet,  "  is  to  inquire  what  Miss  Tresham  did 
while  she  was  in  Saxford.  Fortunately,  we  have 
the  means  of  information  near  at  hand.  When 
I  arrived  here,  Mrs.  Malone  told  me  that  sha 
had  been  to  inquire  for  me.  I  asked  no  ques- 
tions, and  the  good  woman  went  into  no  details. 
If  you  will  come  with  me,  we  will  ask  some  ques- 
tions now." 

Annesley  rose  with  alacrity  to  follow  him. 
They  left  their  sheltered  nook  and  turned  into 


172 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


a  walk  that  led  directly  to  the  house;  but, 
before  they  had  gone  a  dozen  yards,  they  saw  a 
servant  opening  the  gate  and  advancing  with 
evident  haste  toward  them. 

"  A  messenger  for  me,  no  doubt,"  said  the 
priest,  resignedly.  "  The  faithful  have  heard  of 
my  arrival." 

"  A  messenger  who  seems  to  have  travelled 
long  and  hard,"  said  Annesley.  "  He  is  splashed 
with  mud  from  his  hat  to  his  shoes.  The  roads 
are  not  so  bad  either." 

"Toward  the  southwest  they  are.  There 
have  been  heavy  rains  between  Hartsburg  and 
this  place  lately,  as  I  found  yesterday. — Well, 
my  man,  whom  are  you  in  search  of  ?  "  he  said, 
turning  to  the  servant. 

"The  priest,  if  you  please,  sir,"  answered 
the  boy,  who  had  reached  the  two  gentlemen  by 
this  time  and  taken  off  his  cap.  As  he  did  so, 
Morton  started.  To  his  surprise  he  recognized 
a  well-known  Tallahoma  face — no  less  a  person- 
age than  Mr.  Warwick's  body-servant. 

"  What,  Cyrus !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"Why,  if  it  ain't  Mr.  Annesley!  "  said  Cyrus, 
starting  in  turn,  and  staring  open-mouthed  at  the 
young  man. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ? "  Annesley 
asked,  immediately.  "  Where  is  Mr.  War- 
wick ?  " 

"  Mass  John's  in  Hartsburg,  sir,"  answered 
Cyrus.  "  I've  just  come  from  there.  I  rode  all 
night,  sir,  over  awful  roads.  I  never  saw  sich 
holes  in  all  my  life.  You  could  almost  a-put 
Rattler  and  me  both  in  one  of  'em,  and — " 

"  What  on  earth  were  you  riding  all  night 
for  ?  " 

"  It  was  Mass  John's  orders,  sir,"  said  Cyrus, 
in  an  important  tone.  "  He  told  me  to  git  here 
as  fast  as  I  could  and  give  this  note  " — he  pro- 
duced one  from  between  the  folds  of  the  lining 
of  his  cap—"  to  the  Catholic  priest  in  Saxford. 
If  he  wasn't  here — " 

"He  is  here,"  interrupted  Father  Martin. 
"  I  am  the  Catholic  priest.  If  the  note  is  for 
me,  give  it  to  me  at  once,  my  good  boy." 

Cyrus  delivered  up  the  note  immediately,  and, 
after  one  hasty  glance  at  the  address,  the  priest 
broke  the  seal  and  unfolded  it.  Morton,  watch- 
ing his  face  as  he  read,  saw  that  he  paled  sud- 
denly and  strangely  over  the  very  first  Hues.  He 
did  not  raise  his  eyes,  however,  not  even  after 
the  young  man  felt  sure  that  he  had  finished  the 
letter.  In  fact,  he  was  silent  so  long  that  at  last 
impatience  got  the  better  of  civility  and  Annes- 
ley spoke  himself. 


"  Pardon  me,  sir,  but  is  there  any  news  about 
— about  the  person  of  whom  we  have  been  talk- 
ing?" 

Father  Martin  started  and  looked  up — with 
reluctance,  it  was  evident. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Annesley,"  he  said,  "  there  is  news 
— very  painful  news,  I  am  grieved  to  say.  In  a 
few  words,"  he  went  on  hastily,  as  he  saw  the 
young  man  change  color,  "  Miss  Tresham  is  very 
ill,  and  I  am  summoned  to  her.  Here  is  Mr. 
Warwick's  note." 

He  extended  the  sheet  of  paper,  and  Annes- 
ley took  it  without  a  word.  This  was  what  Mr 
Warwick  said : 

"  EACTLE  HOTEL,  HARTSBURG, 
"  Six  o'clock  p.  M.,  Friday,  January  16th. 

"  RKV.  Mr.  MARTIN  r 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  Yesterday  afternoon  I  chanced 
to  reach  this  place,  and,  to  my  surprise,  found 
Miss  Tresham  (lately  teaching  in  my  brother-in- 
law's  family  in  Tallahoma)  lying  dangerously  ill 
here.  Why  or  how  she  came  here  I  do  not 
know,  for  she  had  lost  consciousness  before  I 
saw  her;  but  since  she  is  in  a  violent  brain- 
fever,  which  leaves  scarcely  a  hope  of  her  life, 
the  doctor  urges  me  to  communicate  with  her 
friends,  and  I  therefore  venture  to  address  your- 
self. You  are  the  only  person  who,  in  an  emer- 
gency like  the  present,  can  possibly  be  able  to 
say  what  she  would  or  would  not  wish  to  be 
done — what  steps  taken,  who  informed  of  her 
condition.  May  I  hope  that  you  will  come  to 
Hartsburg  at  once  ?  I  shall  send  this  by  a  mes- 
senger who  will  ride  all  night. 

"  Very  respectfully, 

"  JOHN  WARWICK." 

"  P.  S. — I  have  just  seen  the  doctor,  who 
thinks  there  is  no  hope.  I  ought  to  add,  per- 
haps, that  I  should  have  written  to  you  yester- 
day, if  I  had  thought  of  it.  But,  in  running 
over  the  list  of  Miss  Tresham's  friends,  your 
name  only  suggested  itself  to  me  a  few  minutes 
ago.  Once  more,  I  hope  you  will  lose  no  time  in 
coming." 

That  was  all.  The  letter — so  cold,  so  reti 
cent,  so  full  of  bare  details,  so  utterly  chilling  to 
every  thought  of  nope — fell  from  Morton's  hand 
unheeded.  Dying!  That  was  the  only  sound 
he  heard ;  the  only  thought  left  in  his  brain. 
Dying!  A  black  mist  seemed  creeping  over 
every  thing  round  him ;  the  very  air  seemed  a 
knell  that  repeated  the  word.  Dying !  Youth, 


LIFE   AND   DEATH. 


173 


health,  strength,  all  had  been  hers  when  he  saw 
her  last ;  and  now — 

It  was  Father  Martin's  hand  that  touched  him, 
and  Father  Martin's  voice  that  roused  him  from 
his  trance  of  despair. 

"There  is  nothing  in  that  letter  which  need 
affect  you  like  this,  Mr.  Annesley,"  he  said. 
"  Mr.  Warwick  is  a  fallible  man,  and  so  is  the 
doctor  on  whose  authority  he  speaks.  Many 
doctors  have  said  that  there  is  no  hope,  and 
lived  to  learn  that  while  there  is  life  there  is 
always  hope.  Will  you  do  something  to  help 
me  on  my  way  to  Hartsburg  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  any  thing,"  said  Annesley,  speak- 
ing like  a  man  who  had  been  stunned.  "  What 
do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  want  a  horse,  if  you  will  be  kind  enough  to 
go  up  the  street  and  engage  one  for  me.  I  would 
not  trouble  you,  only  my  own  is  broken  down 
from  yesterday's  journey,  and  is  quite  unequal  to 
such  a  ride  as  the  one  before  me." 

"  Engage  a  horse  ! "  repeated  Annesley,  as 
if  the  sound  of  the  other's  speech  had  only 
dimly  reached  him.  Then  lie  suddenly  caught  a 
gleam  of  his  usual  intelligence.  "  That  is  quite 
unnecessary,"  he  said.  "  My  own  horses  are  at 
the  hotel,  and  are  quite  fresh.  If  you  will  let  me 
drive  you — " 

"  Let  you  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  am  not  going  ?  "  asked 
the  young  man,  passionately.  "  If  you  don't  go 
with  me,  I  shall  go  alone — so  it  is  all  the  same. 
No  power  short  of  death  could  keep  me  from 
her.  I  have  stayed  too  long  already.  This  is 
the  end  of  all  my  scruples  and  doubta,"  he  added, 
bitterly.  "  She  is  dying ! " 

"  She  is  said  to  be  dying,"  corrected  Father 
Martin,  obstinately.  "  I  will  believe  that  she  is 
dying  when  I  see  her  in  the  article  of  death — not 
before.  If  you  intend  to  accompany  me — or  to 
allow  me  to  accompany  you — will  you  let  me 
suggest  that  you  order  your  horses  at  once  ?  " 

"  I  will  be  here  in  ten  minutes,"  Annesley 
answered.  He  turned  to  go,  caught  sight  of 
Cyrus,  who  stood  by,  inwardly  astonished,  but 
outwardly  stolid  —  and  paused.  "  Cyrus,"  he 
said,  wistfully,  "  did  you  hear  anybody  say  what 
the  chances  were  for  Miss  Tresham's  recov- 
ery ?  " 

Cyrus  looked  down  at  his  muddy  shoes.  In- 
stinct made  even  him  pause  before  telling  the 
truth. 

"  I  heard  the  folks  in  the  hotel  a-talking,  sir," 
he  said.  "  They  thought  she  was  mighty  bad 

off." 

12 


"  Did  you  hear  any  of  them  say  that  they 
thought  she  might  get  well  ?  " 

Cyrus  slowly  shook  his  head.  "  No,  sir. 
They  all  said  she  was  bound  to  die.  I  heard 
Dr.  Randolph  a-telling  Mass  John  so,  just  before 
I  left." 

"The  horses,  Mr.  Annesley,"  said  Father 
Martin,  anxiously. 

"  I  am  going,"  answered  Annesley — and  this 
time  he  did  go.  He  left  the  sunny  garden  and 
its  bright,  beautiful  prospect,  without  even  so 
much  as  a  glance ;  yet  it  was  long  before  the 
scene  of  that  awful  blow  passed  from  his  mem- 
ory— long  before  he  forgot  one  outline  of  the 
purple  hills,  one  gleam  of  the  golden  sunshine,  or 
one  throb  of  the  sickening  pain.  As  he  went  his 
way  to  the  hotel,  one  cry  seemed  to  ring  through 
his  heart — the  same  bitter  cry  that  had  been 
wrung  from  him  unconsciously  so  short  a  time 
before. 

"This  is  the  end  of  all  my  scruples  and 
doubts.  She  is  dying !  " 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

LIFE    AND   DEATH. 

"  Is  she  alive  ?  " 

This  waa  the  question  which  Father  Martin 
and  Annesley  asked  simultaneously,  as  the  ex- 
hausted horses  drew  up  before  the  door  of  the 
Eagle  Hotel,  and  Mr.  Crump  came  forward  to 
receive  them. 

"  She's  alive,  gentlemen  —  that's  all  I  can 
say,"  the  landlord  answered,  for  he  knew  at 
once  to  whom  they  alluded.  "  You're  the 
Catholic  priest,  I  suppose,  sir,"  he  went  on, 
addressing  Father  Martin.  "  Mr.  Warwick  told 
me  to  be  sure  and  ask  you  to  walk  up-stairs  as 
soon  as  you  come.  —  The  other  gentleman — " 
He  stopped,  and  looked  at  Annesley.  His  man- 
ner said  that  there  had  been  no  directions  about 
the  other  gentleman. 

"  I'll  walk  up-stairs  also,"  said  Annesley 
springing  to  the  ground,  and  throwing  his  reins 
to  a  boy  standing  near.  As  he  was  turning  away, 
he  suddenly  recollected  that  he  had  driven  his 
horses  very  hard,  and  he  paused  to  say,  "  Attend 
to  these  animals  very  carefully,  if  you  please. 
Rub  them  down  well,  and  let  them  stand  half  an 
hour  before  feeding  them.  My  servant  will  be 
on  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two."  Then, 
to  the  Jandlord,  "  Now  show  us  the  way  uj* 
stairs." 


174 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


Mr.  Crump  was  quite  impressed  by  the 
young  man's  manner.  From  various  causes,  he 
had  lately  conceived  the  idea  that  it  was  a  dis- 
guised princess  who  had  been  lying  ill  at  his 
house  for  more  than  a  week,  and  this  was  only 
another  proof  of  the  correctness  of  that  opinion. 
One  illustrious  person  after  another  had  seemed 
strangely  interested  in  her  welfare ;  and  now 
this  handsome  young  gentleman,  whose  horses 
alone  showed  that  he  was  a  person  of  impor- 
tance, sprung  to  the  ground,  and,  with  a  pale 
face  and  a  manner  which  agitation  robbed  some- 
what of  its  usual  courtesy,  said,  quickly,  "  Show 
us  the  way  up-stairs." 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Crump,  with  alac- 
rity. Then,  to  a  servant  standing  near,  "  Take 
off  those  valises,  and  bring  them  in. — This  way, 
gentlemen." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  house  and  up  the 
staircase — talking,  as  he  went.  "The  doctor 
left  only  a  little  while  ago,  sir.  They  think  the 
lady  won't  live  through  the  night,  I  believe. 
My  wife  hardly  leaves  her  at  all,  and  Mrs.  Ran- 
dolph  set  up  night  before  last.  Last  night,  two 
ladies  arrived  at  the  house,  and  they've  been 
staying  here  all  day  to  help  about  nursing  her. 
One  of  them  is  Miss — " 

The  opening  and  shutting  of  a  door  on  the 
upper  floor,  and  the  rustling  of  a  woman's  skirts 
along  the  passage,  stopped  his  flow  of  words. 
Before  anybody  could  speak,  Miss  Lester  ap- 
peared at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  faced  the 
advancing  party. 

"  Has  the  priest  come  yet,  Mr.  Crump  ? " 
she  asked,  in  her  quick,  clear  tones.  Then  she 
suddenly  caught  sight  of  Morton  in  the  rear 
of  Mr.  Crump's  portly  figure,  and  smothered  a 
scream.  "  Goodness !  Is  it  Mr.  Annesley  ?  " 
she  cried. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,  Miss  Maggie,"  said  Morton, 
pressing  forward.  "  How  is  she  ?  Pray  tell  me 
how  she  is  ! " 

"  She's  as  ill  as  she  can  be,"  answered  Miss 
Lester,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice  that 
sounded  almost  like  a  sob.  "  But  I  don't  give 
up  hope,  Mr.  Annesley;  and  I  don't  mean  to, 
either.  I  know  how  doctors  talk  ;  I  have  heard 
too  many  of  them,"  said  the  young  lady,  almost 
fiercely.  "  Dr.  Randolph  isn't  a  bit  better  than 
any  of  the  rest.  No  hope,  indeed !  What's  the 
good  of  being  a  doctor,  if  he  can't  cure  people 
when  they've  got  brain-fever  as  well  as  when 
they've  got  chills.  Oh,  me,  if  I  was  a  doctor ! 
Is  that  the  priest,  Mr.  Annesley  ?  " 

"  This  is  the  priest. — Mr.  Martin,  Miss  Les- 


ter," said  Morton,  hurriedly. — "  Where  is  War- 
wick, Miss  Maggie  ?  " 

"  In  his  own  room,  I  think.  He  was  in  Miss 
Tresham's  room  a  little  while  ago ;  but  he  went 
out  with  the  doctor.  Mr.  Crump  will  show  you 
the  way.  Mr.  Warwick  is  very  anxious  to  see 
the  pr — that  is,  Mr.  Martin." 

"  Walk  this  way,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Crump ;  and  Father  Martin  followed  him  down 
the  passage. 

Morton,  however,  stood  his  ground.  Despite 
his  inquiry,  he  had  not  come  to  see  Warwick, 
but  to  see  Katharine,  and  he  thought  that  his 
best  means  of  compassing  the  latter  point  was 
through  Miss  Lester. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  too  ?  "  asked  she,  in 
her  straightforward  fashion.  "  If  you  want  to 
hear  about  Miss  Tresham,  Mr.  Warwick  can  tell 
you  a  great  deal  more  than  I  can.  He  knows 
every  thing  that  the  doctor  says,  while,  for  my 
part,  I  am  at  dagger's-drawing  with  him.  I 
told  him  to  his  face  that  he  wasn't  worth  calling 
a  doctor  if  he  could  not  save  her  life,  and  he 
told  me  that  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  talking 
about.  So  you  see  I  am  not  the  person  to  come 
to  for  Dr.  Randolph's  opinion." 

"It  is  not  Dr.  Randolph's  opinion  I  want," 
said  Annesley.  "  I  have  heard  quite  enough  of 
that.  I  want  to  see  Miss  Tresham,  Miss  Maggie  : 
and  I  hope  you  will  let  me  do  it." 

"  You  want  to  see  Miss  Tresham  ?  "  repeated 
Miss  Lester,  in  amazement.  "  Why,  Mr.  Annes- 
ley, are  you  crazy  ?  Don't  you  know  she  is  so 
ill  that  she  would  not  know  her  own  mother,  if 
her  mother  came  ?  And  yet  you  talk  of  seeing 
her !  Of  course,  you  can't  see  her  ;  nobody  can, 
except  the  people  who  are  nursing  her." 

"  But,  Miss  Maggie — " 

"You  really  can't,  Mr.  Annesley  ;  and  that  is 
the  end  of  the  matter." 

"  Not  quite  the  end,  I  hope,"  said  Annesley. 
"  If  you  are  determined  against  me,  I  must  ask 
the  doctor.  He  won't  refuse,  I  am  sure." 

"  He  would  refuse  if  you  were  her  own  broth- 
er," returned  Miss  Lester.  "  I — I  never  heard 
such  a  thing  in  all  my  life !  If  it  wasn't  you, 
Mr.  Annesley,  I  really  think  I  should  be  very 
angry.  What  possible  right  have  you  to  see 
Miss  Tresham  ?  "  she  demanded,  in  a  tone  that 
provoked  Annasley  to  a  retort. 

"  As  much  right  as  John  Warwick,  I  sup- 
pose," he  said.  "  He  has  been  admitted  without 
any  difficulty,  I  believe." 

"  There  is  a  great  difference  between  you  and 
Mr.  Warwick,"  said  Miss  Lester,  severely.  "  It 


AND    DEATH. 


175 


leems  to  me  you  might  see  it.  He  is  an  old 
man"  (the  speaker  was  eighteen),  "quite  old 
enough  to  be  Miss  Tresham's  father ;  and,  be- 
sides, he  found  her,  and  sent  away  her  doctor, 
and  got  another  one,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
She  would  be  dead  by  this  time,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Mr.  Warwick.  But  you — Mr.  Annes- 
ley,  I  am  astonished  at  you  !  If  Miss  Tresham 
had  been  ill  at  home  in  a  private  house,  you 
would  never  have  dreamed  of  making  such  a  re- 
quest as  this." 

"  You  are  wrong ;  you  do  me  great  injus- 
tice," said  Morton,  quickly.  "  I  would  have 
made  it  all  the  same,  under  any  circumstances. 
Miss  Lester,  you  won't  refuse  me — I  am  sure  you 
won't — if  you  only  stop  and  consider  a  minute." 

"  I  might  consider  a  hundred  minutes,  Mr. 
Annesley,  and  nothing  would  come  of  it.  Be- 
sides, /  am  not  the  sick-room  authority.  Oh, 
dear,  no  !  There  is  Mrs.  Randolph.  You  would 
have  to  get  her  permission  after  you  had  mine." 

"  Please  go  and  ask  her  to  come  here,  then. 
Any  thing  is  better  than  wasting  time  like 
this." 

Even  at  that  hour,  feminine  vanity  was  not 
quite  extinguished  in  the  youthful  feminine 
breast.  Miss  Lester  shot  a  keen  little  shaft 
out  of  her  brown  eyes,  and  made  a  smart  little 
courtesy.  ''  Thank  you  for  such  a  nice  compli- 
ment, Mr.  Annesley,"  she  said,  and,  having  said 
it,  hurried  away. 

In  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Randolph  came  out  of 
the  sick-room,  and  walked  up  to  the  young  man. 
Strange  to  say,  he  found  her  much  more  dis- 
posed than  Miss  Lester  had  been  to  listen  kindly 
to  his  petition.  She  read  his  whole  story  so 
plainly,  and  she  had  so  entirely  given  up  all 
hope  of  Katharine's  life,  that  the  grim  shadow 
of  propriety  almost  ceased  to  terrify  her,  almost 
seemed  to  recede  into  nothingness,  by  the  side 
of  those  two  phantom-shapes — Life  and  Death — 
which  had  met  in  their  last  awful  duel.  She 
listened,  softened,  and,  even  while  she  expostu- 
lated, seemed  half  inclined  to  yield. 

"  What  good  would  it  do  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Miss  Tresham  is  quite  unconscious.  You  could 
not  rouse  her  ;  you  could  not  speak  to  her  ;  you 
could  only  look  at  her." 

"  That  would  be  enough,"  said  Morton,  im- 
ploringly. "  Only  let  me  look  at  her — that  is  all 
I  ask.  Dear  madam,  don't  refuse  me!  Think 
— only  think — that,  if  you  do,  I  may  never  see 
her  again  in  life  ! " 

His  tone  of  unconscious  pathos  brought  tears 
to  Mrs.  Randolph's  eyes.  She  stopped,  thought 


a  moment,  hesitated,  and  seemed  about  to  yield, 
when  a  step  sounded  on  the  stairs. 

"  There  is  my  husband  now,"  said  she,  with 
an  expression  of  relief.  "  I  am  so  glad  !  It  is 
quite  impossible  for  me  to  decide  such  a  matter 
as  this  ;  and  he  will  be  able  to  say  exactly  what 
is  right  to  do.  I  am  so  glad  he  is  coming !  "  she 
repeated,  as  the  staircase  creaked  loudly  under 
the  weight  of  her  lord,  and  the  top  of  his  tall 
hat  came  in  sight  round  the  curve. 

For  his  part,  the  doctor  was  quite  astonished 
when  he  looked  up  and  saw  his  wife  in  close  con- 
sultation with  a  handsome  young  stranger  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs.  He  had  left  her  in  chief 
charge  of  his  patient;  and,  knowing  that  she  was 
the  most  vigilant  of  nurses,  he  found  it  hard  to 
account  for  this  seeming  forgetfulness  of  duty. 
"  What  the  deuce — "  he  began  asking  himself, 
when  he  caught  a  better  view  of  the  stranger, 
and  recognized  Mr.  Annesley,  of  Lagrange.  He 
knew  him  slightly,  and  they  were  soon  shaking 
hands.  Then  the  petition  was  referred  to  the 
doctor  by  the  doctor's  wife. 

"  Mr.  Annesley  is  just  from  Tallahoma,  from 
Miss  Tresham's  friends,"  said  this  diplomatic 
woman.  "  He  is  very  anxious  to  see  Miss  Tresh- 
am, and — and  I  hardly  knew  what  to  say  to  him. 
You  have  come  just  in  time  to  take  the  responsi- 
bility off  my  hands.  You  can  tell  him  all  about 
her." 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  I  want  to  be  told," 
said  Annesley,  a  little  brusquely,  "  that  is, 
whether  or  not  I  can  see  Miss  Tresham.  Surely 
there  is  no  harm  in  it,"  said  he,  addressing 
Mrs.  Randolph.  "  Surely  it  can't  injure  her," 
he  said,  addressing  the  doctor.  Then  throwing 
all  his  eloquence  into  an  appeal  to  both,  "  Only 
a  few  minutes  !  I  am  not  unreasonable,  and  I 
won't  ask  any  thing  more." 

"  It  is  neither  of  my  wife  nor  of  myself  that 
you  should  ask  that  much,  Mr.  Annesley,"  said 
the  doctor,  gravely.  "  Miss  Tresham  was  placed 
under  my  care  by  Mr.  Warwick.  It  is  to  Mr. 
Warwick,  therefore,  that  you  must  apply  for 
permission  to  see  her.  I  can  only  say  as  a  med- 
ical man  whether  or  not  such  a  visit  would  injure 
her." 

"  And  may  I  ask  what  you  do  say  ?  " 

"  That  the  visits  of  a  hundred  people  could 
have  no  possible  ill  effect  upon  her  now.  Her 
disease  has  to-day  passed  from  violent  delirium 
to  its  second  and  more  dangerous  stage — that 
of  stupor,  which  is  deepening  gradually  into  tho 
insensibility  that  precedes  death." 

Annesley  shrank.    Alas  !  who  docs  not  shrink 


176 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


when  that  terrible  word  is  spoken  with  the  cold, 
calm  deliberation  of  scientific  certainty  in  regard 
to  some  life  to  save  which  we  would  freely  tell 
out  our  blood,  drop  by  drop — for  which  we  would 
give  the  very  throbs  of  our  heart,  the  very  hours 
that  come  to  us  filled  to  the  brim  with  the  keen, 
fresh  elixir  of  vitality,  the  very  powers  of  health, 
and  strength,  and  possible  enjoyment,  that  mock 
us  so  bitterly  at  such  a  time ! 

"  Doctor,"  said  he,  huskily,  "  is  there  no 
hope  ?  " 

Other  people  had  asked  the  doctor  this  ques- 
tion, and  to  each  of  them  he  had  given  that 
decided  answer  which  had  so  roused  Miss  Les- 
ter's scorn.  In  the  name  of  every  symptom  of 
the  case,  of  every  teaching  of  experience,  of 
every  data  of  medical  knowledge,  he  had  re- 
plied, "  No  hope." 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  he  hesitated.  Now, 
for  the  first  time,  he  felt  inclined  to  rack  his 
brain  for  something  of  a  temporizing,  it  might 
even  be  of  a  consoling  nature,  felt  inclined  to 
evade  the  direct  answer,  as  he  often  evaded  it 
•when  people  came  to  him  with  the  extreme  of 
love  and  anguish  quivering  in  their  voices  to  ask 
this  same  question,  "Doctor,  is  there  no  hope?" 

"I  might  answer  that,  while  there  is  life, 
there  is  always  hope,  Mr.  Annesley,"  he  said, 
"  but  that  is  a  mere  generality  which  means 
nothing.  If  you  want  my  honest  opinion  of 
this  particular  case,  I  can  give  jt  to  you.  Every 
symptom  up  to  this  point  has  been  unfavorable. 
The  disease  has  not  yielded  an  inch  to  the  reme- 
dies employed,  but  seems  to  be  advancing  stead- 
ily to  a  fatal  termination.  So  far  I  have  not  seen 
a  single  sign  which  encourages  me  to  hope  that 
the  patient  may  rally.  Yet,  as  a  medical  man,  I 
cannot  say  that  such  rallying  would  be  impossi- 
ble. In  the  first  place,  recoveries  take  place 
more  frequently  from  meningitis  occurring  as  an 
attendant  upon  other  diseases  than  when  the  com- 
plaint is  original.  Miss  Tresham's  disorder  is 
secondary  meningitis.  That,  therefore,  is  our  first 
ground  for  hope — slender  though  it  be.  In  the 
second  place,  the  disease  has  three  stages :  vio- 
lent excitement,  first,  when  it  can  almost  always 
be  easily  arrested  ;  stupor  next,  when  the  chances 
of  safety  are  very  much  diminished  ;  and,  lastly, 
coma,  or  profound  unconsciousness,  which  pre- 
cedes and  gradually  sinks  into  death.  Recovery 
from  this  last  state  is  so  unusual  that  it  is  hardly 
possible  to  count  upon  it.  Nevertheless,  in  rare 
instances,  it  does  occur — or  rather  the  total 
prostration  which  sometimes  follows  the  cure  of 
violent  inflammation,  simulates  the  symptoms 


that  mark  the  closing  stage  of  the  worst  cases. 
This  is  our  second  ground  for  hope.  Slight  as  it 
is,  I  shall  act  upon  it.  I  shall  resort  to  stimu- 
lants. If  the  symptoms  are  organic,  they  can  do 
no  harm,  for  death  must  necessarily  take  place  ; 
if  merely  functional,  they  may  be  the  means  of 
saving  her  life." 

"  And  if  your  worst  fears  are  realized — if  the 
last  stage  is  really  here  ?  " 

"  In  that  case  to-night  decides  every  thing — 
death  must  ensue  before  morning." 

"  And  if  she  lives  through  the  night  ?  " 

"  Let  us  wait  until  the  night  is  past,  before 
we  ask  that  question,"  said  the  doctor,  almost 
solemnly.  "  Now  I  must  go.  If  you  wish  to 
see  my  patient,  Mr.  Aunesley,  I  can  only  refer 
you  to  Mr.  Warwick." 

He  made  a  short  little  bow  and  went  away, 
followed  by  his  wife.  As  for  Annesley,  he  stood 
still  and  watched  them  with  a  feeling  of  blank 
hopelessness  impossible  to  describe.  To-night ! 
He  had  said  that  to-night  would  decide  every 
thing  !  Involuntarily  the  young  man  looked  out 
of  a  window  near  which  he  stood,  and  shivered. 
The  shades  of  evening  were  falling.  The  sun 
was  gone,  the  gray  mantle  of  twilight  was  en- 
wrapping every  thing,  a  lovely  crescent  moon 
was  cradled  softly  over  the  fringing  western 
clouds,  while  faint  and  more  faint  the  burning 
glow  of  sunset  was  fading  from  the  sky.  To- 
night !  And  night  was  coming — night  was  here ! 
It  could  not  be,  he  cried  out,  fiercely  yet  vainly 
— ah,  how  vainly !  The  darkness  seemed  like 
some  horrible  monster  advancing  with  slow, 
stealthy  steps  to  do  its  horrible  work ;  to  seize 
its  passive  victim  from  those  strong  arms  of 
helpless,  outstretched  agony;  to  bear  away  the 
grace,  the  beauty,  the  glory  of  life,  under  its 
sombre  pall,  and  leave  only  a  cold  white  shadow 
of  mortality  to  meet  the  gaze  of  the  sun  when  he 
came  once  more  in  pomp  and  splendor  from  his 
royal  couch.  0  fall  of  night !  0  long  hourrf  of 
darkness  !  How  terrible  ye  are  to  watchers  like 
these,  to  those  who  cry,  "  If  she  can  but  live 
through  to-night !"  The  awful  death  of  light — 
awful  sometimes  to  the  shrinking  soul  when 
there  is  no  cause  like  this  to  dread  it — seems 
at  such  times  invested  with  a  horror  all  its  own. 
When  morning  comes — ah,  morning !  Will  *A* 
ever  see  it  ?  " 

"  Can  you  sliow  me  Mr.  Warwick's  room  ?  " 
said  Annesley  to  a  servant  passing  by. 

"  Number  thirteen — right  down  the  pasfage, 
sir,"  answered  the  man,  hastily.  "  You  can't 
miss  the  door." 


LIFE   AND   DEATH. 


177 


To  number  thirteen,  right  down  the  passage, 
Annesley  accordingly  took  his  way,  and  soon 
found  that,  indeed,  it  would  have  been  impos- 
sible for  him  to  miss  the  door,  especially  as  it 
was  standing  open  and  Father  Martin  was  in  the 
act  of  coming  out. 

"  It  is  really  impossible  for  me  to  advise  you, 
Mr.  Warwick,"  he  was  saying.  "  You  must  act 
according  to  your  own  judgment  in  the  mat- 
ter." 

"  That  is  harder  than  you  think,"  Mr.  War- 
wick replied. 

And  just  then  Annesley  appeared. 

Father  Martin,  who  was  looking  very  pale 
and  grave,  nodded  to  the  young  man,  and  walked 
slowly  away,  while  Mr.  Warwick  extended  his 
hand  cordially. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Morton,"  he  said. 
"  I  heard  that  you  were  in  the  house,  and  I  was 
just  coming  in  search  of  you.  I  suppose  you 
have  seen  Randolph,  and  there  is  nothing  for 
me  to  tell  you." 

"  I  saw  him  a  moment  ago,"  Morton  answered. 
"  He  has  spoken  very  plainly.  He  says  that  every 
thing  depends  on  to-night,  and  that  the  chances 
are  all  against  life." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard  how  I  found 
her?" 

"  No,  not  yet." 

The  lawyer  told  him  in  a  few  brief  words, 
adding:  "  It  is  quite  useless  to  make  wishes  with 
regard  to  what  is  past ;  but,  if  I  had  reached 
here  a  day  earlier,  all  this  might  have  been 
spared.  The  treatment  of  an  infamous  quack 
brought  on  the  disease  of  which  she  is  dying; 
and,  if  Randolph  had  seen  her  twelve — nay,  six 
— hours  earlier — but  this  is  folly.  You  heard 
the  news  in  Saxford,  the  priest  tells  me." 

"  I  was  with  him  when  he  received  your  note. 
I  had  gone  there  to  try  and  find  out  something 
about  her.  I " — he  paused  involuntarily.  Men 
do  not  readily  speak  to  each  other  with  regard  to 
matters  of  sentiment  or  feeling,  do  not  easily  con- 
quer the  strong  reluctance  to  show  the  soft  ker- 
nel of  their  natures,  instead  of  putting  forward 
the  harder  rind  which  characterizes  them  in  every 
degree  and  condition  of  life.  Even  when  cir- 
cumstances force  them  to  this  expression,  they 
give  it  with  a  hesitation  which  shows  how  much 
it  goes  against  the  grain.  It  certainly  went 
against  the  grain  with  Morton  now.  According 
to  his  own  desire,  he  would  not  have  made  a  con- 
fidant of  anybody ;  but  to  make  a  confidant  of 
John  Warwick — the  irony  of  events  could  not  go 
any  farther,  he  thought.  Still,  he  must  speak 


plainly,  if  he  wished  to  see  Katharine ;  and 
plainly,  therefore,  he  proceeded  to  speak. 

"  Perhaps  I  don't  need  to  tell  you,  Mr.  War- 
wick,  that  I  have  loved  Miss  Tresham  for  a  long 
time,"  he  said.  "  That  love  is  my  excuse  for 
coming  here,  and  for  asking  your  permission  to 
see  her — since  chance  and  your  own  kindness 
have  placed  her  under  your  care.  I  can  scarcely 
hope  to  interest  you  by  speaking  of  my  own  feel- 
ings," he  went  on  hastily — "  but  her  death  would 
be  to  me  a  terrible  grief." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  the  lawyer,  with  kind 
gravity.  "  You  are  right  in  conjecturing  that  I 
was  aware  of  your  love  for  Miss  Tresham,"  he 
went  on ;  "I  have  observed  it,  and  I  can  under- 
stand that  it  brought  you  here,  and  that  it  makes 
you  anxious  to  see  her,  now  that  you  are  here. 
But,  of  course,  you  have  been  told  that  she  is 
insensible.  It  seems  to  me  it  would  be  more 
painful  than  gratifying  to  you  to  see  her  in  that 
state." 

"  All  I  ask  is  to  see  her,"  said  Morton.  "  The 
doctor  says  it  could  do  no  harm — but  he  referred 
me  to  you  for  permission." 

"  To  me !  I — stop  a  minute — let  me  think," 
said  Mr.  Warwick,  in  reply.  He  rose  and  walked 
to  the  window,  where  he  stood  gazing,  as  Annes- 
ley had  done,  on  the  gathering  twilight  and  fall- 
ing night.  Objects  were  indistinct  by  this  time, 
and  his  tall,  dark  figure  was  little  more  than  an 
outline  to  Morton,  who  sat  quite  still  beside  tho 
fire.  After  a  while  he  came  back,  and,  standing 
on  the  hearth,  addressed  the  young  man. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  your  request,"  he 
said,  "and  I  have  decided  that  it  is  you,  not  I, 
who  can  tell  best  whether  or  not  I  ought  to  ac- 
cede to  it.  Your  own  love  for  Miss  Tresham  is 
no  reason  why  you  should  be  allowed  to  see  her. 
The  only  thing  that  would  give  you  that  right 
would  be  her  love  for  you ;  and,  consequently, 
her  assumed  consent.  Understand  this,  and  say 
yourself  whether  or  not  you  shall  see  her." 

Morton  was  startled.  "  Mr.  Warwick,  you 
place  me  in  a  hard  position,"  he  said. 

"  The  decision  rests  with  yourself,"  repeated 
Mr.  Warwick;  and,  liaving  said  this,  he  turned 
and  went  back  to  the  window. 

Annesley  sat  and  thought.  For  a  short  time 
he  was  quite  puzzled,  but  at  length  he  began  to 
understand  Mr.  Warwick's  meaning,  and  to  ap- 
preciate the  bearing  of  the  question  which  had 
been  thus  unexpectedly  thrust  upon  him.  It  was 
a  strange  position,  certainly.  To  decide,  at  the 
bidding  of  another  man,  whether  the  woman  he 
loved,  loved  him  in  return ;  to  count  over  he* 


JL78 


words,  and  looks,  and  intangible  shades  of  tone, 
and  to  reckon  if  all  these  proofs  went  for  or 
against  his  cause.  At  any  other  time,  or  for  any 
other  reason,  nobody  would  have  been  quicker 
than  Morton  to  call  himself  a  miserable  puppy 
for  doing  such  a  thing  as  this ;  but  now  it  was 
imperative  to  arrive  at  some  conclusion — it  was 
the  only  hope,  the  only  condition,  of  seeing  her. 
Honestly,  then,  and  with  a  strange,  wistful  lean- 
ing toward  hia  own  side,  as  far  removed  from 
vanity  as  one  thing  could  possibly  be  removed 
from  another,  he  went  over  the  ground,  faith- 
fully summed  up  all  the  evidence,  and,  at  last, 
made  his  decision.  Then  he  rose  and  crossed 
the  floor  to  Mr.  Warwick,  who  had  waited  pa- 
tiently at  the  window. 

"  Mr.  Warwick,  I  think  you  will  agree  with 
me  that  this  is  not  a  time  for  false  delicacy,"  he 
eaid,  with  quiet  simplicity.  "  You  have  put  me 
on  my  honor  to  speak  the  truth :  forgive  me  if 
what  I  believe  to  be  the  truth  sounds  like  van- 
ity or  unpardonable  presumption.  I  have  asked 
myself  honestly  if  I  think  Miss  Tresham  would 
marry  me,  and,  honestly  also,  I  have  answered, 
4 1  think  she  would.'  " 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  turn- 
ing, and,  a  good  deal  to  Morton's  surprise,  offer- 
ing his  hand.  "  Yes,  I  agree  with  you  that  this  is 
no  time  for  false  delicacy.  Your  candor  does  you 
more  credit  than  any  mock  modesty  would.  I 
left  the  question  to  yourself;  but,  since  you  have 
expressed  your  opinion,  I  will  tell  you  that  it  is 
mine  also.  Miss  Tresham  is  not  a  woman  to 
wear  her  heart  on  her  sleeve ;  but,  I  think  if  you 
had  asked  her  to  marry  you,  she  would  have  said 
'  Yes.'  You  have  my  best  wishes  that  she  may 
»»y  it  yet,"  he  added,  smiling  gravely.  "  Now 
we  will  go  to  her  room." 

"  You  will  find  Miss  Vernon  here,"  Mr.  War- 
wick went  on,  as  they  walked  down  the  passage 
together.  "  She  and  Miss  Lester  arrived  at  the 
hotel  yesterday,  and,  finding  Miss  Tresham  ill, 
they  remained.  They  are  both  very  kind ;  and 
Miss  Vernon,  in  particular,  has  proved  herself  a 
most  excellent  and  capable  nurse.  This  is  the 
room." 

He  stopped  Annesley,  who  was  passing  on, 
and  tapped  lightly  at  the  door  before  which  he 
paused.  It  was  opened  by  Mrs.  Randolph,  who 
at  once  admitted  him.  She  smiled  when  she 
saw  Morton,  but  said  nothing ;  and,  leaving  them 
to  close  the  door,  went  back  softly  to  the  bed. 

Mr.  Warwick  passed  in  first,  and  Annesley 
followed.  There  was  nothing  repuisive,  nothing 


suggestive  of  pain,  or  struggle,  or  death,  in  the 
scene  before  him.  On  the  contrary,  every  thing 
was  very  quiet  and  peaceful.  A  sick-room,  un- 
doubtedly, but  hardly  a  death-chamber,  one  would 
have  thought,  looking  at  the  exquisite  neatness 
of  all  the  arrangements,  at  the  white  bed  with  its 
recumbent  figure,  at  the  shaded  light,  the  soft, 
pretty  glow  of  the  fire,  the  figures  sitting  or 
standing  here  and  there.  Every  thing  was  very 
subdued.  If  they  had  spoken  in  tones  of  thun- 
der, they  could  not  have  roused  that  motionless 
sleeper,  or  raised  those  heavy  lids ;  but,  none  the 
less,  an  unconscious  impulse  made  them  tread 
softly  and  speak  low.  Around  the  bed  two  or 
three  were  grouped.  Father  Martin,  with  his 
hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  stood  just  before 
Annesley,  as  the  latter  approached.  When  a 
touch  made  him  draw  aside,  the  young  man 
looked  down  on  the  face  he  had  come  to  see. 

A  motionless  face,  out  of  which  the  burning 
fever  flush  had  faded  long  since,  a  face  that  was 
almost  as  white  as  the  pillows  on  which  it  rested, 
that  was  sunken  in  the  lines  a  little,  and  bore 
on  its  serene  features  something  of  a  shade  of 
the  awful  change  that  was  to  come.  To-night ! 
Did  they  say  she  would  die  to-night  ?  Morton 
could  realize  it,  now  that  he  had  seen  her.  Fair, 
and  gentle,  and  robbed  of  all  terror,  as  that 
quiet  sleep  looked,  it  was  not  so  fair  and  gentle 
but  that  it  showed  the  deadly  meaning  under- 
neath. It  was  too  still,  it  was  too  full  of  unchan- 
ging repose.  The  longer  he  looked,  the  more  he 
felt  inclined  to  doubt  whether,  indeed,  it  was 
life  or  death  on  which  he  gazed.  At  last  he 
could  look  no  longer.  With  a  gasp  he  raised 
his  eyes,  and  met  the  gaze  of  another  pair  of 
eyes  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bed — eyes  whose 
beauty  he  had  known  long,  but  whose  tenderness 
he  never  appreciated  until  he  saw  them  now 
shining  like  stars  upon  him  from  Irene  Vernon's 
face. 

"  How  is  her  pulse  ?  "  he  heard  Mr.  Warwick 
ask  the  doctor,  who  came  forward  and  bent  over 
the  patient. 

"Feeble  and  thread-like  —  apparently  fail- 
ing," was  the  reply.  "  There  is  nothing  for  it 
but  to  push  the  stimulants.  I  have  very  little 
hope  in  them ;  but,  at  least,  they  can  do  no 
harm  ;  while,  as  it  is,  she  is  sinking  rapidly." 

They  went* en  speaking,  but  Annesley  moved 
away.  This  was  so  different  from  any  thing  he 
had  anticipated,  that  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room  to  steady  himself.  They 
had  all  warned  him  that  it  would  be  so,  but, 
nevertheless,  he  had  fancied  something  very  dif 


LIFE   AND   DEATH. 


179 


ferent — something  like  a  scene  in  a  book,  some- 
thing that  would  sweeten  all  the  rest  of  life  with 
a  taste  of  love's  divine  elixir.  But  this !  To  see 
her  pass  from  him  like  this,  lapsing  from  earth's 
sleep  to  the  deeper  sleep  of  death,  without  one 
gleam  of  consciousness,  one  parting  glance,  one 
farewell  word — surely,  this  was  hard !  He  had 
set  aside  all  the  obstacles,  and  traversed  all  the 
space  that  divided  them ;  he  had  won  his  point, 
and  was  here  in  the  same  room  with  her ;  yet 
what  were  those  other  barriers  to  that  which  sep- 
arated them  now  ?  Ah,  love  can  do  wonders  !  it 
can  break  through  prison-bolts,  it  can  climb 
mountains,  it  can  cross  oceans  ;  but  it  has  never 
yet  been  able  to  send  one  single  tone  into  the 
ear  that  death  has  dulled,  to  win  one  single 
glance  from  the  eyes  that  death  has  closed. 

After  a  while  Miss  Vernon  came  up  to  him, 
and  held  out  her  hand.  "  Don't  despair,  Mr.  An- 
nesley !  She  is  very,  very  ill ;  but  I  think  the 
doctor  has  not  quite  given  up  hope,"  she  said, 
gently. 

"  She  is  dying ! "  answered  Morton.  He  ap- 
preciated it  now,  and  the  realization  of  the  in- 
evitable brought  a  sort  of  stunned  quietude  with 
it. 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Miss  Vernon, 
quickly.  "  I  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  sickness 
in  my  life,  and  seen  people  who  were  desperately 
— so  desperately — ill,  sometimes  recover,  that  I 
cannot  despair  of  anybody.  Besides — you  may 
be  surprised  to  hear  this,  Mr.  Annesley — but 
Miss  Tresham  does  not  look  to  me  like  a  dying 
person.  And,  what  is  more,  Mrs.  Randolph — 
whose  experience  is,  of  course,  greater  than  mine 
— says  the  same  thing." 

"  Don't  try  to  give  me  hope,  Miss  Vernon," 
he  said,  with  a  faint  smile.  "  Think  how  terri- 
ble it  will  be  to-morrow." 

"  But  you  need  some  hope.  I  see  that  you 
have  given  up  to  despair." 

"  I  was  madly  full  of  hope  until  I  saw  her. 
After  that,  I  should  be  blind  not  to  perceive 
that  the  doctor  is  right  —  that  there  is  no 
hope." 

He  turned  away,  and,  leaving  her  abruptly, 
went  to  a  window  near  at  hand.  The  solemn 
curtain  of  night  met  his  gaze — a  deep,  dark 
shadow  lay  over  all  things,  shadow  hardly  lighted 
by  the  faint,  tender  radiance  of  the  young  moon, 
or  the  steady  glory  of  a  myriad  stars.  It  had 
come,  it  was  here,  that  fateful  time  of  darkness 
in  which  Life  and  Death  would  fight  their  last 
battle ! 

Presently  Miss  Lester  accosted  him.     "  Mr. 


Annesley,  you  have  had  nothing  to  eat.  Come 
with  me,  and  I  will  take  you  down-stairs  and 
ask  Mrs.  Crump  to  give  you  some  hot  coffee  and 
supper  all  to  yourself." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Maggie,  I  am  not  hungry," 
he  answered.  But,  when  she  pressed  the  matter, 
he  went  down — careless  what  he  did,  or  what  be- 
came of  him.  He  drank  the  coffee,  and  listened 
to  Mrs.  Crump's  account  of  all  that  had  hap- 
pened, as  in  a  dream.  After  some  time,  he 
found  himself  back  up-stairs — in  his  own  room, 
this  time — pacing  to  and  fro,  or  sitting  motion- 
less before  the  fire,  waiting,  listening,  strung  to 
the  highest  pitch  of  nervous  anxiety — for  they  had 
promised  to  call  him  whenever  "  any  change " 
should  come. 

So  the  long  hours  passed,  midnight  came,  and 
it  was  at  midnight  that  the  doctor  had  said  the 
flickering  taper  would  be  most  likely  to  go  out. 
In  the  sick-room  all  was  quiet.  The  nurse  nodded 
on  one  side  of  the  fire,  and  Miss  Lester  dozed  on 
the  other :  the  doctor  had  gone  into  Mr.  War- 
wick's room  to  lie  down,  leaving  strict  directions 
for  the  administering  of  the  stimulants,  and  strict 
orders  that  he  was  to  be  called  at  the  least  sign 
of  change.  Mrs.  Randolph  was  sleeping  lightly  in 
a  deep  arm-chair,  while  Irene  Vernon,  at,  the  bed, 
kept  vigilant  guard  over  the  sick  girl.  Exactly 
at  midnight,  she  gave  another  dose  of  the  stimu- 
lant, then  remembering  what  the  doctor  had  said, 
she  laid  her  finger  on  the  pulse.  It  crept  beneath 
her  touch  like  a  thin,  feeble  thread,  but  still  she 
started,  and  motioned  Mr.  Warwick,  who  waa 
standing  near,  to  bend  down. 

"  Feel  it,"  she  said.  "  I  may  be  deceived, 
but  it  seems  to  me  it  is  stronger  and  fuller  than 
when  I  felt  it  last." 

She  took  away  her  finger,  and  he  laid  his 
own  in  its  place.  Her  eyes  were  on  him,  and 
she  saw  that  he  too  started. 

"  It  is  stronger  and  fuller,"  he  said.  "  There 
is  a  change  of  some  sort.  I  must  go  and  call 
Randolph." 

He  left  the  room,  and  was  passing  down  the 
passage,  when  a  door  on  the  right  opened,  and 
Anneeley  appeared. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  has  it  come  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  change  for  the  worse,"  answered 
Mr.  Warwick.  "  I  am  only  going  to  wake  Ran- 
dolph. See  for  yourself,  if  you  like,"  he  added, 
as  Morton  looked  at  him  a  little  doubtfully. 

In  two  minutes,  the  doctor  stood  in  the  room, 
and  felt  the  pulse — his  face  watched  by  the  others 
with  breathless  anxiety. 

"  There  is  a  little  change,"  he  said,  guard 


180 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


edly;  "but  it  may  be  only  a  fluctuation  of  the 
disease — a  flicker  of  the  taper.  We  shall  soon 
see.  Press  the  stimulants,  Miss  Vernon — shorten 
the  time  between  the  doses.  A  few  more  hours 
will  end  all  suspense." 

The  hours  crept  on — slowly,  heavily,  every 
minute  a  battle-ground  with  Death,  who  sullenly 
retreated  step  by  step ;  not  vanquished,  only  kept 
at  bay.  It  was  a  night  that  nobody  who  was 
present  ever  forgot,  for  it  is  seldom,  indeed,  that 
the  issue  of  this  terrible  conflict  hangs  on  such  a 
trembHng  balance,  that  one  single  error  of  judg- 
ment, one  single  fault  of  skill,  would  throw  the 
advantage  so  irretrievably  into  the  hands  of  an 
adversary  who  never  relents.  For  hours  it  was 
impossible  to  tell  whether  Life  or  Death  was  win- 
ning the  victory — the  variations  being  so  slight, 
the  fluctuations  so  many.  Nobody  dared  press 
the  doctor  with  questions,  yet  everybody  felt  what 
a  neck-and-neck  race  he  was  running,  as  he  sat 
by  the  bed,  and  scarcely  once  took  his  finger  from 
that  slender,  feeble  pulse,  steadily  pursuing  the 
same  treatment  which  he  had  so  hopelessly  be- 
gun, and  stimulating  by  every  possible  means  the 
•inking  system.  Not  once  during  all  those  hours 
did  the  set,  anxious  expression  of  his  face  relax, 
or  his  lips  utter  a  word  of  hope.  He  worked 
with  unflagging  energy  ;  but  whether  or  not  he 
found  any  signs  of  encouragement,  no  one  could 
tell.  When  the  first  light  of  the  cold,  gray  dawn 
began  to  steal  into  the  room,  the  issue  of  the 
battle  was  still  doubtful — the  victory  was  still  to 
be  won. 

Annesley,  who  had  been  in  and  out  of  the 
room  a  dozen  times  since  he  had  met  Mr.  War- 
wick at  midnight,  was  walking  up  and  down 
the  passage  (on  which  a  soft  cloth,  to  deaden  all 
sound  of  foot-steps,  had  been  laid),  as  this  chill 
dawn  began  to  break.  Full  as  he  was  of  other 
thoughts,  he  stood  still  to  watch  it.  A  less  en- 
livening occupation  could  hardly  be  imagined, 
especially  on  a  winter  morning,  when  mind  and 
body  are  alike  depressed  by  long  watching  at  a 
sick-bed.  In  summer  there  is  something  bright 
and  rejoicing  in  the  birth  of  color,  the  songs  of 
birds,  the  dewy  freshness  of  awaking  Nature ; 
but  a  winter-day  dawn  is  one  of  the  most  dreary 
things  in  existence.  How  stealthily  the  gray 
light  comes !  How  ghost-like  the  white  mist 
looks  creeping  along  the  ground,  or  wreathing 
into  phantom-shapes  among  the  bare,  black 
boughs  of  trees !  How  barren  and  bereft  of  all 
beauty  the  earth  seems !  Annesley  looked  around 
him  drearily,  then  turned  and  began  his  prome- 
nade again.  Night  itself  was  better  than  this,  he 


thought.  Up  and  down  he  walked  with  the  day 
light  growing  clearer  and  clearer  around  him, 
all  unheeded,  or,  if  noticed,  only  a  discordance. 
The  east  began  to  glow  into  royal  beauty,  fling- 
ing out  her  crimson  and  golden  banners,  with 
a  gorgeous  affluence  that  made  the  glories  of 
sunset  pale  into  insignificance.  At  lasj,  with  one 
magnificent  bound,  the  sun  uprose,  and  sent  his 
long  lines  of  level  gold  flashing  across  the  earth. 
One  of  them  darted  into  the  passage  where  An- 
nesley paced,  and  streamed  on  Katharine's  door, 
like  the  touch  of  a  burning  finger.  At  that  very 
moment,  the  door  opened,  and  Irene  Vernon  came 
out — the  sunshine  encircled  her  like  a  halo  of 
luminous  glory,  as  Annesley  hurried  forward  to 
meet  her. 

"  You  want  me  ?  "  he  asked,  breathlessly. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  eagerly,  with  a  smile 
— was  it  the  smile  or  the  sunshine  that  daz?Jed 
him  so  ? — "  1  want  you.  The  dcctor  has  spoken 
at  last,  and  he  says —  Oh,  Mr.  Annesley,  thank 
God — that  we  may  hope." 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

MRS.  GORDON'S   SUSPICION. 

A  FEW  days  later,  Katharine  was  sufficiently 
out  of  danger,  and  sufficiently  in  the  way  of  re- 
covery, for  Mr.  Warwick  to  think  of  returning  to 
Tallahoma.  He  could  not  see  her,  or  enter  into 
any  explanation  with  her  before  he  went,  for  the 
doctor  absolutely  forbade  any  exciting  presence 
or  exciting  topics ;  but  he  made  every  possible 
arrangement  for  her  comfort,  and  finally  took  his 
departure,  with  the  assurance  that  she  could  not 
be  in  better  hands.  She  was  still  at  the  hotel, 
for  the  doctor  peremptorily  negatived  removal ; 
but  it  was  understood  that  Miss  Lester  would 
claim  her  as  soon  as  she  was  well  enough  to 
move.  There  had  been  quite  a  contest  between 
this  young  lady  and  Mrs.  Randolph  on  the  sub- 
'ject,  but  the  former  had  carried  the  point  in  her 
spirited,  self-willed  way.  Mrs.  Randolph  was 
forced  to  resign  her  claim,  and  it  was  settled  (as 
much  as  any  thing  could  be  settled  without  the 
consent  of  the  person  most  concerned)  that  Miss 
Tresham  was  to  be  handed  over  to  Miss  Lester 
as  soon  as  Dr.  Rfcpdolph  would  give  his  sanction 
to  such  a  step.  Meanwhile,  Miss  Lester  and  Misa 
Vernon  at  last  took  their  departure  from  the 
hotel,  and,  much  to  the  relief  of  the  down- 
trodden Lcsters,  pere  and  mire,  accomplished 
their  return  to  Bellefont — the  name  of  the  Les- 


MRS.  GORDON'S  SUSPICION. 


181 


ter  plantation.  From  this  place,  however,  they 
made  daily  incursions  on  the  Eagle  Hotel,  and 
sent  messengers  with  game  and  fruit,  and  a  hun- 
dred delightful  things,  at  all  hours  of  the  day. 
As  for  Annesley,  he  did  not  trouble  himself  to 
go  back  to  Lagrange,  but  quietly  took  up  his 
quarters  with  Godfrey  Seymour — who,  like  the 
Lesters,  lived  near  Hartsburg — and  he,  too,  left 
his  compliments  and  inquiries  regularly  with 
Mrs.  Crump;  for  Mrs.  Crump's  patient. 

To  this  patient  the  sight  and  sounds  of  life 
came  back  very  slowly,  giving  to  life  itself  a 
dream-like  unreality.  It  was  only  by  gradual 
degrees  that  consciousness  returned  once  more 
— that  time  and  the  things  of  time  again  asserted 
a  claim  over  the  spirit  that  had  stood  on  the  very 
threshold  of  eternity.  All  the  weeks  of  pain, 
and  the  days  of  terrible  danger,  were  blotted 
into  nothingness ;  so  that  when  Katharine  at 
last  opened  her  eyes  to  the  things  around  her, 
she  found  herself  in  a  new,  unintelligible  world. 
Her  very  arrival  in  Hartsburg  was  one  of  the 
memories  that  had  gone  from  her  forever,  so  her 
complete  surprise  at  the  strange  faces  and  strange 
surroundings  about  her  may  be  imagined. 

"  Where  am  I  ? — how  did  I  come  here  ? — who 
are  you  all  ? ''  she  asked.  But,  receiving  no  sat- 
isfactory reply,  she  felt  too  languid  and  indiffer- 
ent to  press  the  matter.  Day  after  day  she  lay 
in  that  profound  rest  which  makes  the  luxury 
of  convalescence,  too  weak  to  think,  too  weak 
to  remember,  too  weak  to  conjecture,  too  weak 
to  do  any  thing  save  smile  faintly  in  the  doctor's 
cheerful  face,  answer  Mrs.  Randolph's  or  Mrs. 
Crump's  kind  inquiries,  and  for  the  remainder 
of  the  time  lie  quite  still,  watching  the  sunshine 
on.  the  window-sill,  and  Mom  Elsie's  black  fingers 
as  they  sent  the  bright  knitting-needles  swiftly 
to  and  fro.  As  yet,  she  had  seen  no  familiar 
face,  heard  no  familiar  name — not  even  the  names 
of  Miss  Lester  and  Miss  Vernon,  not  even  the 
name  of  Mr.  Warwick. 

"  I'll  run  no  risks,"  said  the  doctor  to  the 
latter.  "Take  yourself  off  to  Tallahoma — the 
eooner  the  better.  Leave  her  in  ray  hands,  and 
when  you  come  back — we  will  think  about  let- 
ting you  see  her  then.  That  handsome  scamp, 
young  Annesley,  had  the  impudence  to  come  to 
me  with  a  request  of  the  same  sort  to-day,"  he 
added,  smiling.  "  I  assure  you,  I  cut  him  short. 
He  wanted  a  message  delivered.  I  told  him  I 
ehould  like  to  catch  myself  playing  Mercury,  or 
Apollo,  or  Cupid,  or  whoever  is  supposed  to  be 
the  messenger  of  love-stricken  youths,  to  a  pa- 
tient just  out  of  a  brain-fever." 


"I  need  not  trouble  jou  with  any  thing  of 
the  kind,  then,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  You  may  trouble  me  with  it  as  much  as  you 
please  ;  but,  whether  or  not  I'll  trouble  Misa 
Tresham — well,  candidly,  that  is  quite  another 
matter." 

Denied  all  access  to  Katharine  in  this  decided 
manner,  Mr.  Warwick  had  no  alternative  but  to 
take  his  departure,  and  leave  her,  as  requested, 
in  the  doctor's  hands.  He  did  so  unwillingly^ 
but  time,  business  engagements,  and,  above  all, 
the  remembrance  of  Mrs.  Gordon's  anxiety, 
pressed  him  hard.  Excepting  on  a  matter  of 
life  and  death,  he  absolutely  could  not  remain 
away  from  Tallahoma  any  longer.  Feeling  this, 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  go,  and,  having  made 
up  his  mind,  he  was  not  long  in  carrying  resolve 
into  execution.  On  Wednesday  morning,  the 
twenty-first  of  January,  he  drove  away  from  the 
Eagle  Hotel,  and,  leaving  Miss  Tresham  to  be 
slowly  won  back  to  health  by  comfort  and  care, 
turned  his  face  homeward. 

Wednesday  night  he  spent  in  Saxford.  Thurs- 
day afternoon  he  was  driving  along  the  familiar 
roads  of  Lagrange,  and  fast  nearing  Tallaboma, 
when  he  met  a  squarely-built,  middle-aged  man, 
dressed  in  a  suit  of  brown  homespun,  riding  a 
horse  (also  squarely  built)  of  deep-bay  color,  with 
whom  he  stopped  to  speak. 

"  Well,  Shields,  how  are  you  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Pretty  tol'able,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Worruck. 
How  do  you  do  yourself,  sir  ?  "  answered  Mr. 
Shields,  with  a  sort  of  stolid  surprise  at  the 
sudden  encounter.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you  back. 
How  did  you  leave  the  little  boy  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  and  in  a  fair  way  to  be  content- 
ed, I  think.  Has  not  Mrs.  Gordon  received  my 
letter  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  I  haven't  seen  her  for 
nigh  about  a  week.  I  was  at  the  house  Tues- 
day ;  but  she  was  onwell,  they  said,  and,  as  I'd 
no  partic'lar  business,  I  didn't  disturb  her." 

"  Any  news  in  Tallahoma  ?  "  asked  Mr.  War- 
wick, as  he  saw  that  the  man  held  his  ground 
and  did  not  pass  on  as  he  had  expected  him  to 
do. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Shields,  speaking  slowly, 
but  with  evident  unction — "well,  yes.  There's 
news  in  Tallahoma  that  I'm  sorry  to  tell  you, 
Mr.  Worruck.  The  bank  was  broke  into  last 
night,  and  robbed  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
they  say." 

"  What !  " 

"  It's  a  fact,  sir.  The  excitement  about  it  in 
town  is  tremenjous.  You  might  a1  knocked  me 


182 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


down  with  a  feather  when  I  heard  the  news  my- 
self; and,  as  for  Mr.  Marks,  he  was  as  white  as  a 
sheet  when  I  saw  him  this  morning.  They  say 
the  first  thing  he  knowed  of  it  was  when  he  went 
down  to  the  bank  as  usual,  and  found  the  locks 
all  broke,  and  Hugh  Ellis—" 

"  When  did  it  happen  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  War- 
wick. 

"  Last  night." 

"  Is  there  any  suspicion  as  to  who  the  thief, 
or  thieves,  were  ?  " 

"There's  a  suspicion  of  its  bein'  a  man  that 
went  to  the  bank  yisterday ;  but  nobody  knows 
who  he  is,  nor  where  he  is  neither,  for  he's  not 
about  town  to-day." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  "this  is  bad 
news,  and  I  must  hurry  on  to  town.  I  will  stop 
and  see  Mrs.  Gordon,  however.  Good-evening, 
Shields." 

He  nodded,  and  Cyrus  drove  on,  leaving  Mr. 
Shields  somewhat  crestfallen  in  the  middle  of  the 
road.  He  looked  regretfully  after  the  vanishing 
carriage,  and  then  pursued  his  way  in  rather  a 
subdued  frame  of  mind.  He  did  not  exactly 
think  to  himself  that  it  was  hard  to  be  cut  short 
in  this  summary  fashion,  when  he  would  have 
liked  to  talk  over  all  the  particulars  of  the  mat- 
ter, as  he  had  talked  them  over  twenty  times 
before  that  day  ;  but,  none  the  less,  it  was  hard. 
Mr.  Warwick,  as  he  drove  on,  did  not  think  of 
what  a  real  and  sensible  pleasure  he  had  deprived 
the  poor  man. 

His  road  led  him  directly  past  the  gates  of 
Morton  House.  When  he  reached  those  gates, 
he  turned  in.  Ten  minutes  later,  he  was  shown 
by  Harrison  into  Mrs.  Gordon's  room.  She  was 
sitting  before  the  fire,  leaning  back  in  a  deep 
arm-chair  with  a  listless  languor  that  struck  Mr. 
Warwick  at  once.  She  did  not  even  turn  her 
head  when  the  door  opened,  and  her  abstraction 
was  so  deep  that  he  reached  her  side  without  at- 
tracting her  attention. 

"  You  see  I  have  got  back,  Mrs.  Gordon,"  he 
eai.1,  quietly.  But,  quietly  as  he  spoke,  he  could 
not  avoid  startling  her.  She  bounded  in  her 
chair  at  the  first  tone  of  his  voice ;  then  turned 
quickly,  and  tried  to  rise — did  rise  half-way, 
but,  through  weakness  or  agitation,  sank  back 
again. 

"  You  !  "  she  said,  faintly.  "  I — how  you 
itartled  me ! " 

"  I  see  I  did,"  he  said,  with  some  contrition. 
"  I  ought  to  have  known  better.  I  thought  you 
would  have  heard  me  come  in." 

"  No  ;  I  did  not." 


"  I  am  back,  you  see." 

"  Yes,  I  see."  She  rose  now,  and  held  oui 
her  hand.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  And 
Felix  ?  " 

"  I  left  Felix  very  well,  and  almost  contented ; 
no  doubt,  he  is  quite  contented  by  this  time." 

Instantly  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Contented  ! "  she  repeated.  "  Away  from 
me  !  Ah,  that  is  hard — harder  than  you  think  i 
Yet  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  Sit  down,  pray,  and 
tell  me  all — every  thing — about  him.  I  am  hun- 
gry, heart-hungry,  to  hear." 

Pressed  for  time,  and  burning  with  impa- 
tience, as  he  was,  he  sat  down  and  told  the  story 
of  his  journey,  with  all  those  details  that  every 
woman  loves  to  hear,  and  few — very  few — men 
know  how  to  give.  She  listened  to  him  eagerly 
— drank  in  every  word,  indeed — while  he  de- 
scribed the  kind  people  (old  friends  of  his  own) 
with  whom  he  had  placed  Felix,  the  child's  first 
despair,  and  subsequent  partial  content.  After 
every  thing,  even  to  the  last  parting,  had  been 
told,  he  rose. 

"  I  would  not  leave  you  so  soon,"  he  said,  in 
answer  to  her  glance  of  pained  surprise ;  "  but  I 
heard  some  news,  a  few  minutes  ago,  which  star- 
tled me  very  much,  and  I  feel  that  I  ought  to 
hasten  into  town.  Besides,  even  for  your  sake, 
I  had  better  go.  I  may  find  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Lloyd.  You  know  it  was  arranged  that  he  should 
write  to  me  instead  of  to  yourself." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

As  she  stood  up  to  give  him  her  hand  at 
parting,  the  light  shone  full  on  her  face  from  a 
window  just  opposite,  and  he  saw  that  it  was  even 
more  pale  and  hollow  than  when  he  went  away. 

"  You  look  badly,"  he  said.  "  Have  you  been 
ill,  or  only  fretting  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  nothing  to  do  since  you  left  but 
nurse  my  fancies,"  she  answered,  with  a  sad 
smile,  "until  I  am  half  sick  with  nervous  terror 
about  Felix.  I  have  wished  a  thousand  times 
that  I  had  not  sent  him  from  me,  or  that  I  had 
gone  with  him." 

"  It  is  not  too  late  yet,"  said  he,  kindly. 
"  Shall  I  take  you  to  him  ?  Only  say  the  word, 
and  I  will  do  so." 

"  No,"  answered  she  ;  "  don't  tempt  me.  I 
might  go  if  it  were  not  that  it  would  look  so 
cowardly,  so  muth  as  if  I  had  reason  to  bo 
afraid — and  I  have  none.  Let  him  come !  IIo 
can  do  me  no  harm — now  that  Felix  is  gone." 

"  He  could  annoy  you  more  than  you  think." 

"  Let  him  try  !  "  Something  like  the  fire 
and  glow  of  combat  swept  into  the  face  that,  an 


MRS.  GORDON'S  SUSPICION. 


183 


Instant  before,  had  been  so  pale  and  listless. 
'At  all  events,  he  shall  find  me  here,  if  he 
chooses  to  come.  Don't  talk  of  this,  however. 
Talk  of  yourself,  instead.  Let  me  thank  you  for 
having  been  so  kind  to  me — and  so  considerate, 
which  even  the  kindest  people  often  fail  to  be. 
But  I  must  not  detain  you.  I  see  how  impa- 
tient you  are  to  be  gone,  and  I  do  not  wonder — 
I  have  heard  of  that  dreadful  robbery.  I  am  so 
very  sorry  for  Mr.  Marks  !  You  will  come  to  see 
me  again  soon — will  you  not  ?  " 

"  Can  you  doubt  it  ?  I  would  not  go  now  but 
for  the  news  of  that  robbery  of  which  you  speak. 
I  must  see  poor  Marks  at  once,  and  try  to  stir 
him  up  to  some  energetic  measures  for  discover- 
ing the  perpetrators  of  such  an  outrage.  I  can 
imagine  how  stunned  and  hopeless  he  is.  Good- 
evening.  If  there  is  a  letter  from  Lloyd,  I  will 
send  it  to  you  at  once." 

He  shook  hands  with  her,  and  was  starting  to 
leave  the  room,  when  she  called  him  back.  Like 
most  women,  she  had  still  a  "  last  word,"  and  he 
was  doomed  to  hear  it.  He  could  not  help  feel- 
ing a  little  impatient,  as  the  best-natured  people 
will  feel  at  such  detentions  when  they  are  burn- 
ing to  get  away — yet  if  he  had  only  known 
the  importance  of  that  word,  he  would  hardly 
hare  grudged  the  time  necessary  to  hearing 
it. 

"  Mr.  Warwick,"  she  said,  when  he  turned 
back,  "  I  am  half  ashamed  to  speak — and  yet  I 
think  I  ought  to.  It  is  better  to  give  a  useless 
hint,  than  to  withhold  one  that  may  be  of  even 
the  least  service.  Don't  think  me  full  of  nervous 
fancies,  when  I  ask  if  you  have  thought  of  St. 
John  in  connection  with  this  robbery  ?  " 

Mr.  Warwick  started,  and  his  face  changed 
so  much  that  she  noticed  and  was  surprised  at 
it. 

"  No.     How  could  I  ?  "  he  replied. 

"  Well — I  have.  I  don't  mean  to  accuse 
him,  I  simply  mean  to  say  that  I  thought  of  him 
as  soon  as  I  heard  of  it.  Was  this  an  instinct, 
or  merely  a  fancy  ?  I  don't  pretend  to  know ; 
but  I  think  it  right  to  direct  your  attention  to 
him  as  a  measure  of  precaution." 

"  What !  is  he  so  worthless  a  scoundrel  that 
you  should  think  he  would  commit  an  open  rob- 
bery like  this  ?  " 

"  He  has  lived  by  cheating  and  robbing — one 
way  or  another — all  his  life.  Why  not  this  way 
as  well  as  any  other  ?  If  the  chance  of  success 
was  good,  and  the  chance  of  detection  not  great, 
I  don't  believe  he  would  have  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment." 


"  You  say  this  deliberately  ?  Stop,  Mrs.  Gor- 
don — think.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  make  such 
a  charge.  Do  you  say  it  deliberately,  weighing 
it  well  ?  " 

"  I  say  it  deliberately,  weighing  it  well. 
Whether  or  not  he  is  guilty  of  this  crime,  I 
believe  him  capable  of  it." 

"  But  alone — unaided !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  is  alone,  unaid- 
ed? God  forgive  me  if  I  am  judging  him  un- 
justly, but  a  man  like  him  soon  makes  friends, 
and — accomplices." 

Mr*.  Warwick  did  not  answer.  To  her  sui- 
prise,  he  turned  away  and  looked  in  the  fire. 
The  peculiarity  of  his  manner,  the  expression  of 
his  face,  struck  her.  Involuntarily,  she  wondered 
what  was  the  meaning  of  it — what  there  was  in 
this  supposition  to  affect  him  so  evidently  and  so 
strongly  ?  Before  she  could  ask  any  questions, 
however,  he  turned  round  again — a  question  on 
his  own  lip,  and  by  no  means  one  that  she  had 
anticipated. 

"  Have  you  spoken  of  this  before,  Mrs.  Gor- 
don  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Have  you  mentioned  thia 
suspicion  to  any  one  else  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  wonderingly.  "  Even 
if  I  had  felt  disposed  to  do  so,  I  have  seen  no 
one  to  whom  I  could  have  mentioned  it.  I  heard 
of  the  robbery  from  the  servant^.  I  see  nobody 
else." 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  favor — a  great  personal 
favor  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  she  said,  wondering  still  more. 
"  Can  you  ask  me  such  a  thing — you  who  have 
just  sacrificed  time,  business,  every  thing  to 
serve  me  ?  Tell  me  what  the  favor  is,  and  be 
assured  that  it  is  granted  beforehand." 

"  Then  do  not  mention  this  suspicion  to  any 
one  else.  I  have  a  particular  reason  for  asking 
this,"  he  added,  as  he  saw  the  astonishment 
legible  on  her  face.  "  For  one  thing,  if  it  should 
be  correct,  it  might  reach  Mr.  St.  John's  ears, 
and  put  him  on  his  guard.  Promise  me " — he 
spoke  earnestly — "  that  you  will  not  mention  the 
matter  again." 

"  Since  you  ask  it  as  a  personal  favor,  of 
course  I  will  not.  Otherwise — but  I  shall  try 
not  to  be  curious.  You  must  have  some  very 
good  reason  for  this,  Mr.  Warwick." 

"  I  have," 

"  Reason  that  I  am  not  to  hear  ?  " 

"  Not  just  now,  at  all  events.  I  have  not 
time,  even  if  I  had  inclination  (and,  frankly,  I 
have  not  inclination  at  present),  to  tell  you. 
May  I  rely  on  your  promise  ?  " 


184 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


*•  I  hope  you  may — we  Mortons  are  proud 
of  always  keeping  our  word." 

"  I  do  rely  on  it,  then.  Now,  good-by.  If  I 
do  not  leave  at  once,  it  will  be  sunset  before  I 
reach  Tallahoma." 

"  One  woid !  I  see  you  think  I  will  never  let 
you  go  ;  but  it  is  only  one  word  more.  Have  you 
seen  any  thing  of  Morton  Annesley  ?  His  mother 
is  very  anxious  about  him." 

"  Why  should  she  be  anxious  ?  Surely  he  is 
old  enough  to  take  care  of  himself." 

"  He  has  gone  she  does  not  know  where,  but 
she  strongly  suspects  that  it  is  in  search  of-J-your 
Bister's  governess,  who  left  here  very  abruptly, 
several  weeks  ago." 

"  Tell  me  something  about  that,"  said  he, 
forgetting  even  the  bank  for  a  moment.  "Do 
you  know  why  she  went  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  I  have  suspected  that 
she  was  sent  by  St.  John  in  search  of  Felix.  I 
found — after  you  left — that  he  came  here  to  see 
her,  and  only  discovered  me  accidentally.  There 
is  some  tie  of  close  connection  between  them, 
evidently.  I — I  absolutely  went  to  ask  her  to 
stay  here  as  you  advised,  and  I  found  him  with 
her.  God  only  knows  how  grateful  I  was  for 
having  done  so.  If  I  had  brought  her  back 
with  me,  I  might  have  been  weak  enough  to  tell 
her  all  that  he  wishes  to  know." 

Mr.  Warwick  said  not  a  word.  Once  again, 
that  incomprehensible  expression  came  over  his 
face  which  Mrs.  Gordon  had  noticed  before.  He 
looked  at  his  boots  meditatively,  and,  after  a 
while,  she  went  on : 

"  If  Felix  had  not  been  under  your  care,  I 
scarcely  know  how  I  could  have  borne  the  cruel 
suspense,  the  cruel  doubts  and  fears  Miss  Tresh- 
am's  absence  has  caused  me.  I  am  sure  she 
went  for  this  purpose — this  alone — and  now  that 
I  see  you  before  me,  my  heart  begins  to  fail  once 
more.  Ah,  tell  me,  is  he  quite  safe  ? — is  there 
no  possibility  of  her  reaching  him  ?  " 

"You  may  set  your  mind  at  rest  on  that 
point,"  he  answered,  quietly.  "  There  is  not 
the  least  danger  of  his  being  found  by  any 
agent  or  messenger  of  Mr.  St.  John.  But  I  am 
forgetting  myself.  I  must  go.  Once  more,  good- 
by." 

He  shook  hands  again  hastily,  and  left  the 
room  before  she  had  time  for  another  word.  A 
minute  or  two  later,  he  was  driving  at  a  rapid 
pace  down  the  avenue. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
MR.  WARWICK'S  INVESTIGATION. 

DCSK  was  setting  in  when  Mr.  Warwick  en« 
tered  Tallahoma,  and,  as  the  Marks  house  was 
the  first  on  that  side  of  the  village,  Cyrus  had 
already  drawn  up  to  the  gate,  and  his  master  was 
about  to  descend  from  the  carriage,  when  the 
latch  was  lifted  and  a  servant  came  out. 

"  Mass  John  I  "  he  exclaimed,  as,  notwith- 
standing the  dim  light,  he  recognized  Mr.  War- 
wick. 

"  How  are  you,  Tom  ?  Has  your  master 
come  home  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  master  ain't  been  home  since  mor- 
nin',  and  mistiss  is  just  now  sent  me  to  tell  him 
to  come  home  to  supper.  The  bank  was  robbed 
last  night,  Mass  John,  and — " 

"  Yes,  I  know. — Drive  on,  Cyrus — to  the 
bank. — Tell  your  mistress,  Tom,  that  I  have 
come,  and  that  I  have  gone  on  to  meet  your 
master." 

Mr.  Warwick  was  so  occupied  with  his  own 
thoughts  that  he  did  not  notice  any  thing,  did 
not  even  look  out  of  the  window,  as  he  drove 
through  the  village,  or  he  would  have  seen  his 
brother-in-law,  who  was  plodding  homeward,  with 
step  most  unlike  his  usual  brisk  business-walk, 
his  head  declined,  and  his  eyes  fixed  vacantly 
on  the  pavement.  Thus  abstracted,  the  carriage 
passed  him  unperceived,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
stopped  at  the  bank. 

"  You  need  not  wait,"  said  Mr.  Warwick, 
alighting  hastily.  He  opened  the  gate,  and  had 
proceeded  half-way  up  the  walk,  when,  recollect- 
ing his  promise  to  Mrs.  Gordon  about  the  letter, 
he  went  back  and  called  to  Cyrus,  who  was  driv- 
ing off.  "  Make  haste  home  with  the  horses,"  he 
said,  "  and,  as  soon  as  you  have  given  them  to 
Jacob,  go  to  the  post-office,  get  my  letters,  and 
bring  them  here  as  quickly  as  possible." 

The  front-door  of  the  bank  was  standing  wide 
open,  and,  as  he  was  entering  the  passage,  he 
heard  the  sound  of  a  key  turning  in  its  lock. 
The  next  instant,  the  clerk  of  the  bank,  who 
had  just  been  locking  the  door  of  the  cashier's 
room,  preparatory  to  going  out,  came  toward 
him.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  the  young  man's 
face  ;  but,  recognising  his  figure  and  movements, 
the  lawyer  spoke. 

"  Well,  Hugh,  I  understand  you  have  had  a 
terrible  piece  of  work  here,"  he  said,  holding  out 
his  hand. 

Poor  Hugh  Ellis  had  borne  up  manfully  until 


MR.  WARWICK'S   INVESTIGATION. 


185 


this  moment ;  but  his  courage  and  power  of  self- 
control  broke  down  now.  Seizing  the  hand  which 
Mr.  Warwick  offered,  he  wrung  it  hard,  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  swallow  a  huge  lump  that  had 
been  stationary  in  his  throat  all  day,  giving  him 
the  constant  sensation  of  choking,  failed  in  his 
effort,  and  suddenly  burst  into  tears. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  kindly ; 
"  this  won't  do !  There's  no  good  in  crying 
over  a  thing,  you  know.  What  we  must  think 
of  is  to  ferret  out  the  thieves  and  get  the  money 
back." 

"  Oh  ! — if  y-ou  could — do  that,  Mr.  War- 
wick !  "  cried  Hugh,  sobbingly. 

"  It  must  be  done.  So  come  back  into  the 
bank  with  me,  and  let  me  hear  all  about  the  busi- 
ness. Where's  Marks  ?  " 

"  Just  gone  home  to  supper ;  but  he  said  he 
would  be  back  in  half  an  hour,"  answered  Hugh, 
with  animation ;  for  his  heart  was  already  light- 
ened, and  his  spirits  raised,  by  the  confident  man- 
ner of  the  lawyer. 

Leading  the  way  back  to  the  cashier's. room, 
he  unlocked  the  door,  groped  his  way  to  the 
fireplace — the  windows  being  all  shut  close,  the 
room  was  in  pitch  darkness — felt  about  on  the 
mantel-piece  until  he  found  a  box  of  matches, 
and  struck  a  light.  As  he  turned,  with  it  in 
his  hand,  toward  Mr.  Warwick,  who  was  advan- 
cing, the  latter  started  in  astonishment,  exclaim- 
ing : 

"  Good  Heavens !  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  " 

He  might  well  ask  the  question,  since  tlie  face 
before  him  was  so  bruised  and  disfigured  that  he 
could  scarcely  believe  it  to  be  that  of  Hugh  Ellis. 
The  lower  part  of  one  cheek  was  swollen  out  of 
all  shape,  and  very  much  discolored,  while  the 
eye  on  the  other  side  of  the  face  was  half  closed, 
and  surrounded  with  pieces  of  sticking-plaster, 
crossed  diagonally  by  narrow  strips  of  black 
court-plaster  to  hold  them  in  place — the  counte- 
nance altogether  presenting  an  appearance  at 
once  ludicrous  and  pitiable. 

"  Did  you  have  a  fight  with  the  burglars  ?  "  he 
demanded,  his  mind  leaping  to  this  conclusion  be- 
fore the  young  man  had  time  to  speak. 

"  Not  much  of  a  fight,"  answered  Hugh,  in  a 
tone  of  mortification.  "  They  were  two  to  one, 
and  too  much  for  me,  though — " 

"  But  you  saw  them  ?  "  interrupted  the  other, 
eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  them." 

"  This  is  better  than  I  had  hoped.  Sit  down, 
Hugh,  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  Don't  waste 


time,  for  minutes  may  be  valuable  here ;  but 
don't  slur  over  particulars,  as  it  is  generally  by 
some  trifle  that  a  discovery  is  made  in  cases  of 
this  sort.  Go  on." 

He  took  a  chair  as  he  spoke,  and  Hugh,  put- 
ting the  candle  down  upon  the  counter,  followed 
his  example,  and  proceeded  to  comply  with  hia 
request. 

"  I  went  to  bed  about  eleven  o'clock,  as  usual, 
Mr.  Warwick,  and  soon  went  to  sleep.  How  long 
I  was  asleep,  I  don't  know  —  but  I'm  sure  it 
couldn't  have  been  long — when  I  was  waked,  aa 
I  thought,  by  a  sudden,  sharp  noise.  I  jumped 
up  and  listened  ;  but  every  thing  was  perfectly 
still — so  still  that  I  began  to  think  I  must  have 
been  mistaken  about  there  having  been  any 
noise,  though  I  couldn't  imagine  what  else  would 
have  waked  me  so  suddenly.  Since  the  money 
was  brought  up  from  Hartsburg,  I  have  been 
very  wakeful — easily  disturbed,  and  constantly 
starting  in  my  sleep.  Nearly  every  night  I  have 
got  up  two  or  three  times,  and  struck  a  light  to 
see  that  all  was  right.  It  was  only  yesterday  that 
I  mentioned  to  Mr.  Marks  that  I  hadn't  had  a 
good  night's  sleep  since  it  came  ;  and  he  laughed, 
and  said  he  was  glad  I  took  such  care  of  it,  but 
that  it  wouldn't  be  here  to  trouble  me  much 
longer,  for  he  should  send  off  part  of  it  to-day, 
and  expected  to  get  rid  of  the  rest — all  that 
don't  belong  here — the  first  of  next  week.  Well, 
I  sat  up  in  bed,  listening  with  all  my  ears,  for 
some  time — but  not  a  sound  could  I  hear ;  and 
then  I  got  up  and  struck  a  light,  and  went  round 
to  all  the  doors  and  windows,  examining  them 
closely.  Every  thing  was  right,  and  I  put  out  the 
candle  and  went  back  to  bed.  But  I  could  not 
go  to  sleep  again.  Not  that  I  felt  uneasy.  So  far 
from  that,  I  was  disposed  to  laugh  at  myself  for 
being  startled  at  nothing.  But  I  was  so  wide 
awake,  that  I  felt  as  if  I  should  not  be  able  to 
close  my  eyes  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  I  lay 
thinking  of  all  sorts  of  things  for  a  long  time, 
when  suddenly — just  as  quick  as  thought,  Mr. 
Warwick,  and  without  knowing  why — I  jumped 
up  in  bed,  all  over  in  a  cold  perspiration !  I 
had  not  been  asleep — I'd  swear  to  that ! — for  I 
was  thinking  at  that  very  minute  about  Miss 
Katharine — who,  I  suppose,  you  don't  know — " 

"  Yes,  I  know,  she  has  left  Tallahoma.  Go 
on.  You  were  thinking  of  her,  and  so  you  are 
sure  you  were  awake — ? '' 

"  Yes,  sir.  As  wide  awake  as  I  am  this  min- 
ute. And  there  hadn't  been  the  slightest  noise—- 
and I  couldn't  tell,  to  save  my  life,  what  was 
the  matter  with  me.  I  just  jumped  up  as  if  I  had 


186 


MORTOX   HOUSE. 


been  set  on  springs — and  found  myself  in  a  cold 
sweat,  and  trembling  like  an  aspen-leaf.  It  took 
me  so  by  surprise  that  it  must  have  been  several 
seconds  before  I  came  to  myself  sufficiently  to 
know  what  I  was  about.  Then  I  felt  sure — just 
as  sure  as  I  am  now — that  something  was  wrong. 
I  put  my  hand  under  the  pillow  and  drew  out  my 
revolver,  and,  without  waiting  this  time  to  light 
the  candle,  I  sprang  out  of  bed,  groped  my  way 
to  the  door,  which  I  always  leave  open  at  night, 
and  came  into  this  room.  I  stood  still  to  listen 
for  an  instant,  but  all  was  silent ;  I  was  just 
turning  to  go  back  into  my  own  room  to  strike 
a  light  again,  when  I  heard  a  noise  in  the  pas- 
sage outside  there."  He  pointed  to  the  door 
which  gave  egress  from  the  cashier's  room  to  the 
passage.  "  It  was  a  slight,  but  suspicious  kind 
of  noise.  Guided  by  the  sound,  I  went  close  to 
it — to  the  door,  I  mean — and  then  I  heard  voices 
whispering.  The  door  is  so  thick,  and  they  spoke 
in  such  a  low  tone,  that  I  could  not  make  out  a 
single  word  they  said  ;  but  I  could  hear  that  it 
was  two  men  talking — and  that  they  were  pick- 
ing the  lock.  Oh,  Mr.  Warwick,  if  I  had  only 
had  the  presence  of  mind  to  keep  perfectly  quiet, 
so  as  to  let  them  think  I  was  asleep,  and  come 
in,  I  might  have  slipped  out  while  they  were 
busy  picking  the  lock  of  the  vault  door,  and 
obtained  assistance  to  come  and  take  them  be- 
fore they  got  the  money.  Mr.  Marks  always 
takes  the  vault  key,  and  the  keys  of  the  safes, 
home  with  him  at  night — and  the  opening  of 
them  must  have  been  a  tough  job.  If  only  I  had 
had  the  presence  of  mind  !  But  all  I  thought  of 
at  the  minute  was  to  scare  them  off  or  kill  them 
— I  didn't  care  which.  Like  a  fool  as  I  was,  I 
didn't  even  wait  to  light  the  candle,  but  called 
out  just  where  I  stood,  '  I  hear  you,  you  thieves ! 
I've  got  a  revolver,  and  if  you  want  me  to  send 
you  to  the  devil,  just  come  on ! '  They  took  me 
at  my  word  quicker  than  I  expected.  I  had 
started  once  more  to  go  after  the  light — but  be- 
fore I  was  half-way  across  the  room,  the  door 
was  burst  open,  and  when  I  turned  I  just  caught 
one  glimpse  of  two  men  as  they  rushed  in,  by 
the  light  of  a  lantern  one  of  them  carried.  It 
was  a  dark  lantern,  and  he  shut  it  as  soon  as  he 
saw  that  I  had  no  light — I  heard  the  door  pushed 
shut,  and  one  of  them  said,  '  You  stand  against 
it,  while  I  do  for  this  bragging  rascal.'  I  don't 
remember  ever  being  afraid  of  anybody  before  in 
my  life,  Mr.  Warwick ;  but  it  was  an  awful  feel- 
ing that  I  had  then — expecting  every  minute  to 
be  seized  in  the  darks  and  not  knowing  how  I 
could  defend  myself,  and,  above  all,  how  I  could 


save  tie  money!  I  knew  if  they  killed  ma 
they  d  have  every  thing  their  own  way.  Well, 
the  thought  flashed  through  my  mind  that  if  I 
could  get  into  my  own  room  and  fasten  the  door 
— it  locks  on  the  inside — I  might  manage  to 
escape  out  of  the  window,  before  they  could 
break  open  the  door,  and,  once  out  in  the  moon- 
light,  I  could  give  the  alarm,  or  at  least  fig' 
them  if  they  followed  me.  I  was  barefooted,  ai 
had  the  advantage  of  them  in  that — as  I  ma<  * 
no  noise  in  moving.  But  it  was  pitch  dark,  anr 
I  somehow  got  turned  round  in  my  head  as  to 
the  direction  of  my  room-door.  Instead  of  going 
toward  it  as  I  intended,  I  went  the  opposite  way, 
and  suddenly  came  thump  against  the  counter. 
The  villain  that  was  after  me  heard  it,  and  I 
heard  him  coming  toward  me.  I  ought  to  have 
kept  out  of  his  way ;  but,  instead  of  that,  I 
fired  at  random  in  the  direction  of  the  noise  he 
made  in  approaching,  which  was  the  very  worst 
thing  I  could  have  done — for  of  course  he  was 
not  hit,  and  the  flash  of  the  pistol  as  it  went  off 
showed  him  exactly  where  I  stood.  All  was  so 
confuted  after  this,  I  can  scarcely  recall  any  thing 
about  it.  I  fired  twice,  and  the  last  thing  that  I 
can  remember  is  that  just  as  I  was  pulling  the 
trigger  for  the  third  time,  both  the  scoundrels 
jumped  on  me.  I  fought  like  mad,  but  I  think 
it  couldn't  have  been  long  before  they  over 
powered  me.  I  felt  a  sudden  blow  here" — he 
put  his  hand  to  the  side  of  his  forehead,  which 
was  ornamented  with  the  yellow-and-black  patch- 
es. "  It  seemed  to  me  that  a  blaze  of  sparks 
flashed  out  of  my  eyes,  and  made  a  solid  sheet 
of  white  flame  before  them  that  shut  out  every 
thing.  The  blow  must  have  knocked  me  down 
and  stunned  me — for  my  mind  don't  go  beyond 
seeing  this  white  blaze  for  an  instant,  like  a  flash 
of  lightning  exactly.  The  next  recollection  I 
have  is  of  coming  to  my  senses  gradually,  and 
finding  myself  in  pitch  darkness  and  dead  silence, 
tied  neck  and  heels,  aching  all  over  from  head 
to  foot,  and  with  a  gag  in  my  mouth.  I  tried  at 
first  to  get  up,  but  I  couldn't  budge  an  inch,  I 
was  tied  so  hard ;  and  every  movement  I  made 
seemed  as  if  it  would  kill  me  with  pain.  As  to 
my  head,  I  really  thought  it  would  burst,  it  ached 
BO  !  I  think  I  was  hardly  in  my  right  senses  for 
some  time — for,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  kept  strug- 
gling to  get  loofe,  until  I  was  almost  strangled, 
besides  suffering  perfect  agonies  from  the  strain- 
ing of  my  wrists  and  ankles,  which  had  all  the 
skin  rubbed  off  of  them."  He  held  up  his  hands, 
exhibiting  a  pair  of  bandaged  wrists,  as  he  went 
on :  "  At  last  I  lay  quiet  from  exhaustion — and  I 


MR.  WARWICK'S   INVESTIGATION. 


187 


Bouldn't  begin  to  give  you  an  idea  of  how  much 
I  suffered,  and  how  long  the  time  seemed,  until 
Mr.  Murks  came  in  the  morning.  I  thought  morn- 
ing never  would  come  !  I  hope  I  may  never,  as 
long  as  I  live,  have  such  a  time  of  it  again  !  I 
knew  the  bank  was  robbed — and  that  it  was  my 
fault — because  if  I  had  only — " 

"  You  are  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  as  the 
young  man's  voice  faltered,  and  the  tears  again 
came  into  his  eyes.  "  It  was  not  your  fault — you 
did  your  best — and  that  is  all  that  can  be  re- 
quired of  any  man,  and  you  were  willing  to  risk 
your  life — and  that  is  what  every  man  would 
not  do  under  similar  circumstances.  So,  don't 
blame  yourself  unjustly.  I  am  sure  Marks  doesn't 
blame  you." 

"  No.     He—" 

"  You  say  you  saw  the  men  ?  "  interrupted 
Mr.  Warwick,  who  was  exceedingly  impatient  to 
come  back  to  this  point  of  Hugh's  narrative,  and 
had  only  constrained  himself  to  listen  to  the 
rather  verbose  relation  of  the  young  man,  in  the 
hope  of  hearing  something  more  about  those  per- 
sonages. "  Have  you  any  suspicion  of  who  they 
were  ?  " 

"I  have  a  suspicion  that  I  have  seen  one 
of  them  before,  sir — though  I  couldn't  be  certain, 
as  it  was  only  just  a  single  glimpse  that  I  caught 
of  them,  before  the  lantern  was  shut." 

"  Who  was  it  ?  "  said  Mr.  Warwick,  abruptly. 

"  I  don't  know  his  name,  sir — he  is  a  stranger 
hereabouts ;  that  is,  if  I'm  not  mistaken  about 
the  person  I'm  thinking  of.  When  I  turned 
round,  as  the  door  was  burst  open,  I  saw  the  two 
men  distinctly  for  an  instant — that  is,  distinctly 
enough  to  take  in  a  general  idea  of  their  appear- 
ance, and  to  see  that  they  were  black.  But  I 
felt  sure  then,  and  I'm  still  more  sure,  in  think- 
ing it  over,  that  they  were  not  negroes,  but  white 
men  with  their  faces  blacked." 

"  It  is  more  likely,"  commenced  Mr.  Warwick, 
"  that  they  wore — "  crape  masks,  he  was  going  to 
eay — but  stopped  himself  in  time.  "  You  are 
right,  Hugh ;  they  were  certainly  white  men. 
This  is  not  the  sort  of  thing  that  negroes  would 
undertake.  And  you  think  you  recognized  one 
of  them  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  sir.  The  one  that  was  in  front 
when  I  saw  them  was  quite  a  tall  man — as  tall 
as  you  are  yourself,  or  taller,  and  stout  in 
proportion ;  the  other,  who  had  the  lantern, 
was  shorter  and  thick-set.  Just  about  such  a 
looking  man  as  Mr.  Shields."  ("Not  St.  John — 
either  of  them  !  "  thought  Mr.  Warwick,  paren- 
thetically.) "  It  was  the  first  one  that  I  thought 


I  recognized.  I  never  saw  him  but  once,  and 
that  was  the  day  before  the  robbery — " 

"  Yesterday,  then." 

"  Yes,  it  was  yesterday,  though  it  seems  to 
me  a  good  deal  longer  ago.  Well,  this  man 
came  into  the  bank,  while  Mr.  Marks  was  gone 
to  dinner,  with  a  very  ragged  five-dollar  bill  that 
he  wanted  a  new  note  for." 

"  And  did  he  get  it  ?  —  did  you  take  the 
bill  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  couldn't.  It  was  no  bill  of  ours, 
but  one  of  the  '  Commercial  Bank  of  A.'s  '  notes. 
I  thought  it  was  strange  that  the  man  should  be 
so  stupid  as  not  to  know  that  a  bank  has  noth- 
ing to  do,  in  this  way,  with  any  but  its  own  is- 
sues ;  but  I  explained  the  matter  to  him  ;  and 
he  seemed  very  hard  to  understand.  I  felt  a  lit- 
tle out  of  patience  at  having  to  go  over  and  over 
my  explanation ;  and  all  the  while  I  was  talking, 
he  stood  staring  round  the  room,  and  at  me,  in  a 
very  curious  way.  I  noticed  that  he  stayed  a 
great  deal  longer  than  there  was  any  necessity 
for  ;  and  seemed  inclined  to  stay  still  longer,  if  I 
had  not  told  him  that,  if  that  wns  all  he  wanted,  I 
was  sorry  I  could  not  accommodate  him,  and 
that  he  must  excuse  my  going  back  to  my  writ- 
ing, as  I  was  busy.  He  went  away  then." 

"  And  you  think  this  was  one  of  the  bur- 
glars ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  sir  ;  but  I  wouldn't  take  oath  to 
it.  There  was  something  about  the  tallest  of  the 
two  scoundrels  that  at  once  brought  this  stranger 
to  my  mind ;  but  it  might  have  been  merely  his 
height." 

"  The  voice — did  you  notice  that  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  I  was  in  too  much  of  a  flurry  to 
think  of  noticing  that.  And  I  only  heard  him 
speak  once." 

"  Was  his  dress  the  same  as  that  of  the  stran- 
ger ?  " 

Hugh  shook  his  head.  "  Both  of  the  bur- 
glars had  on  blanket  overcoats.  The  stranger 
who  came  about  the  money  was  dressed  in 
black." 

"  He  was  not  a  gentleman,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  can  hardly  say,"  answered  Hugh, 
hesitatingly.  "  His  dress  was  rather  shabby  ; 
but  still,  so  far  as  that  was  concerned,  he  might 
have  passed  for  a  gentleman.  But  there  wag 
something  in  his  face,  a  hang-dog  sort  of  look, 
that — but,  on  the  whole,  I  suppose,  yes  " — rather 
doubtfully — "  I  suppose  he  was  a  gentleman. 
And  I  can't  believe  that  he  did  not  know  better 
than  he  pretended  about  the  bill.  I  think  he 
made  that  an  excuse  to  get  in  and  take  a  look  at 


188 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


the  bank,  and  find  out  all  he  could.  I  saw  him 
looking  very  hard  at  the  door  of  the  vault  there. 
And  he  shut  the  room-door  when  he  went  out, 
though  he  found  it  standing  open.  And  then,  he 
didn't  walk  out  at  once,  but  stopped  so  long  in 
the  passage  that  I  went  and  opened  the  door  to 
see  what  on  earth  he  was  about.  He  walked 
away  when  he  heard  me  coming,  I  suppose,  for 
he  was  just  going  out  of  the  front  door  when  I 
stepped  into  the  passage." 

"  All  this  docs  look  very  suspicious,"  said  Mr. 
Warwick.  "  Did  it  occur  to  you,  at  the  time,  that 
he  might  have  evil  intentions  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  Such  an  idea  never  entered  my 
head.  All  I  thought  was  that  he  must  be  some 
idler  who  had  nothing  to  do  himself,  and  was 
loafing  about,  disturbing  other  people  at  their 
work.  He  had  a  dissipated  appearance  ;  indeed, 
he  looked  to  me  more  like  a  gambler  than  any 
thing  else." 

"And  have  you  made  any  inquiries  about 
him,  as  to  who  and  what  he  is,  and  whether  he 
is  in  town  yet  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir — we've  tried  to  find  out  some- 
thing about  him,  but  nobody  seems  to  know  any 
thing  at  all.  As  soon  as  I  told  Mr.  Marks  this 
morning  what  I've  just  been  telling  you,  he  tried 
his  best  to  trace  up  the  fellow ;  and  so  did  a  good 
many  other  people.  The  whole  town's  been  in  a 
great  excitement,  as  you  may  suppose,  Mr.  War- 
wick." 

"  Did  you,  or  anybody,  go  to  the  hotel  and  in- 
quire if  the  man  had  been  there  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Hilliard  was  here  himself,  and  Mr.  Marks 
asked  him,  the  first  thing,  whether  a  man  like  the 
one  I  described  had  been  at  his  hotel.  He  said 
not ;  and  nobody  seems  to  have  seen  him  except 
little  Jimmy  Powell,  who  thinks  it  must  have 
been  a  man  that  came  into  his  father's  store 
yesterday,  about  dinner-time,  and  bought  a  pen- 
knife from  him." 

"  And  what  has  Marks — " 

Mr.  Warwick  paused,  as  he  heard  the  sound 
of  approaching  foot-steps.  The  next  moment, 
Cyrus  entered  with  some  letters  which  he  gave 
to  his  master,  who,  after  glancing  at  the  address 
of  each,  put  all  but  one  of  them  into  his  pocket. 
That  one  he  opened  at  once,  and  read  it  with 
evident  satisfaction.  "  Give  me  a  sheet  of  paper, 
and  pen  and  ink,  Hugh,  if  you  please,"  he  said, 
as  he  refolded  it.  Carefully  sealing  it  up  and 
addressing  it,  he  handed  it  to  Cyrus,  saying, 
"  Take  a  horse  and  go  with  this  at  once  to  Mor- 
ton House.  Ask  to  see  Mrs.  Gordon  yourself, 
and  give  it  into  her  own  hand.  Now,  don't  lose 


it — for  your  life,  Cyrus!  It  is  of  the  greatest 
importance." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Have  you  had  your  supper?  "  said  Mr.  War- 
wick, calling  him  back  as  he  was  leaving  the 
room. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Then  go  home  and  get  it  before  you  carry 
that  letter;  but  don't  be  all  night  over  it,  for  I 
want  the  letter  delivered  as  soon  as  possible. 
And  remember  what  I  told  you  this  afternoon — 
about  gossipping." 

"  Yes,  sir— I  ain't  forgot." 

"  Talking  of  supper,  I  expect  I  have  been 
keeping  you  from  yours,  Hugh  ?  "  said  Mr.  War- 
wick, as  Cyrus  finally  disappeared. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  in  a  hurry — I'm  not  at  all  hun- 
gry," answered  the  young  man. 

"  You  ought  to  be,  then,"  said  Mr.  Marks, 
entering  the  door  in  time  to  hear  the  last  sen- 
tence, "  for  you  had  no  dinner  any  more  than 
myself. — Well,  Warwick,"  he  continued,  as  he 
shook  hands  with  his  brother-in-law,  who  rose  to 
meet  him,  "  you  come  back  to  find  me  a  ruined 
man." 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that,  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  War- 
wick,  gazing  hard  at  the  face  before  him,  which, 
by  the  dim  light  of  the  single  candle,  looked 
pale  and  haggard,  as  he  had  never  seen  it  be- 
fore. "  It  is  an  ugly  business,  I  must  admit,"  he 
went  on ;  "  but  giving  up  is  not  the  way  to  mend 
it.  We  must  go  to  work  and  find  the  thieves 
and  the  money." 

"  That's  easier  said  than  done,"  replied  Mr. 
Marks,  sitting  down  with  an  air  of  hopeless  de- 
jection. "  We've  been  all  day  trying  to  do  some- 
thing toward  it,  and  have  not  succeeded  in  gain- 
ing the  least  trace  to  begin  with.  And  the  in- 
fernal scoundrels  have  got  a  clear  start  on  us  of 
sixteen  or  eighteen  hours,  at  least." 

"  Why,  surely  you  have  sent  out  advertise- 
ments of  the  robbery  to  all  the  papers  in  the 
State,  and  notified  the  bank  to  stop  payment  of 
the  notes  stolen  ?  "  said  Mr.  Warwick. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  sent  off  special  messengers  not 
an  hour  after  I  found  out  the  robbery.  But  the 
thieves  are  not  likely  to  let  the  grass  grow  under 
their  feet.  Of  course,  they'll  get  out  of  the  State 
as  fast  as  they  can. — Hugh,  why  don't  you  go  to 
supper  ? "  , 

"  I'd  rather  stay  and  hear  what  Mr.  Warwick 
thinks  ought  to  be  done,"  answered  Hugh. 

"  I'm  afraid  nothing  can  be  done  to-night," 
said  Mr.  Warwick.  "  But,  when  you  come  bnck, 
you  shall  hear  if  we  have  decided  on  any  thing." 


MR.  WARWICK'S   INVESTIGATION. 


189 


Fpon  this  hint,  Hugh,  who  took  his  meals  at 
a  boarding-house  not  far  off,  finally  went  to  his 
Jong-deferred  supper;  and  Mr.  Warwick  inquired 
what  was  the  amount  of  money  stolen.  "  A  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars,  Shields  told  me,  but  I 
suppose  that  is  an  exaggeration  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes ;  the  amount  did  not  reach  that  figure. 
There  was  twenty-four  thousand  and  eighty  dol- 
lars in  specie,  a  package  of  fifty  thousand  in 
notes  still  in  the  sheet,  and  thirteen  hundred  and 
twenty-seven  dollars  in  bills  that  have  been  in 
circulation,"  answered  Mr.  Marks,  with  his  usual 
preciseness,  but  by  no  means  his  usual  brisk, 
hearty  tone. 

"  And  you  sent  off  at  once  to  the  bank,  and 
all  its  branches,  giving  the  numbers  of  the 
notes?" 

"I  did  every  thing  that  could  be  done  in 
that  way.  I  sent  messengers  right  off  express 
to  our  bank  and  branches  ;  and  I  wrote  by  mail 
to  all  the  other  banks  in  the  State,  and  in  the 
neighboring  States,  giving  a  list  of  the  numbers 
of  the  notes,  even  down  to  the  one-dollar  bills. 
Powell,  and  Gibbs,  and  Williamson,  and  Horton, 
were  here  all  the  morning,  assisting  Hugh  and 
myself  with  the  writing — copying  the  lists  and 
the  advertisements — and  Burgess  kept  the  mail 
open  to  the  minute  the  stage  was  starting,  to 
put  the  letters  in.  I  have  offered,  on  my 
own  responsibility,  a  reward  of  five  thousand 
dollars  for  the  recovery  of  the  whole  of  the 
money ;  or  a  thousand  for  the  detection  of  the 
thieves,  and  recovery  of  any  considerable  part 
of  it." 

"  So  far,  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Warwick. 
"  And  how  about  trying  to  detect  the  thieves 
yourself?  Did  you  examine  closely  the  scene 
of  their  operations?  —  and  could  nothing  be 
found  to  afford  a  clew  ?  " 

"  The  whole  town,  pretty  near,  were  examin- 
ing-" 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  permitted  that.  The 
thief  or  thieves  themselves  might  have  been 
among  the  number,  for  aught  you  know,  to  see 
if  they  had  left  any  thing  behind  them,  and  to 
secure  it  if  they  had." 

"  No  danger  of  that,"  answered  Mr.  Marks. 
"  Hugh  saw  the  thieves,  and  he  says  one  of  them 
was  very  tall — over  six  feet,  he  is  sure — and  the 
other  was  short  and  heavy  built.  There  was 
nobody  here  that  would  answer  to  either  descrip- 
tion, and  nobody  that  we  didn't  know.  Just  our 
own  townsfolk.  I  wouldn't  have  let  strangers 
come  about,  of  course." 

"  And  how  do  you  know  but  that  the  robbery 
13 


may  have  been  committed  by  some  of  our  own 
townsfolk  ?  " 

Mr.  Marks  shook  his  head.  "  There  are  some 
trifling  men  in  Tallahoma,  it's  true ;  but  I  don't 
believe  there's  one  that  would  be  bad  enough  for 
a  thing  of  this  sort." 

Mr.  Warwick  rose  and  took  up  the  candle- 
stick. 

"  Get  another  light,  and  come  with  me,  will 
you  ?  I  should  like  to  look  at  the  vault  myself," 
he  said. 

Mr.  Marks  did  as  requested.  He  took  from 
the  mantel-piece  another  candle,  lighted  it,  pro- 
duced a  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket,  and  pro- 
ceeded across  the  room  to  a  heavy-looking  door 
set  in  a  deep  recess  in  the  wall. 

"  The  lock  was  picked,  but  I  had  another  put 
on,  though  it  looks  very  much  like  locking  the 
stable  after  the  horses  are  stolen,"  he  said,  as 
he  opened  the  door. 

Descending  a  narrow  flight  of  steps  that  ran 
down  against  the  wall,  with  a  balustrade  to  pro- 
tect it  on  the  outside,  they  held  the  lights  for- 
ward, and  Mr.  Warwick  took  a  survey  of  the 
place.  It  was  a  small,  vaulted  cell  rather  than 
room,  not  more  than  eight  feet  by  twelve,  with 
two  huge  safes  standing  against  the  wall  oppo- 
site the  stairs.  Substantial  safes  they  were  foe 
the  period,  but  not  cast-iron,  and  not  burglar 
proof,  as  their  present  melancholy  condition 
proved.  The  doors  of  both  were  wide  open ;  but 
while  one  of  them  retained  its  contents,  consist- 
ing of  piles  of  ledgers,  labelled  boxes,  and  bun- 
dles of  papers  of  all  sizes  (which  had  evidently 
been  roughly  handled  and  thrust  back  in  utter 
confusion),  the  shelves  of  the  other  were  bare. 

Mr.  Warwick  examined  the  whole  place  with 
the  most  minute  care.  First,  he  held  his  candle 
within  the  empty  money-safe,  running  his  eye, 
and  even  passing  his  hand,  over  every  square 
inch  of  surface  on  the  two  shelves  above,  and 
taking  the  drawer  which  was  fitted  between  the 
lower  shelf  and  the  floor  of  the  safe,  for  the 
reception  of  specie,  clean  out  of  its  place,  in 
order  to  make  an  effectual  search. 

"  You'll  find  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Marks,  who 
had  stood  by  watching  these  proceedings  with  an 
expression  of  face  in  which  apathy  and  impa- 
tience were  rather  singularly  blended. 

"  Don't  let  me  detain  you,"  said  Mr.  War- 
wick,  reading  this  expression.  "  I  dare  say  you 
are  right,  but  still  I  want  to  satisfy  myself  by  a 
thorough  examination.  You  were  all  excited 
this  morning,  of  course,  and  may  have  overlooked 
some  little  matter — there  is  somebody  coining  in, 


190 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


I  think.  Had  you  not  better  go  and  see,  Rich- 
ard ?  I  will  be  up  presently." 

"  I  suppose  it's  Hugh,"  replied  Mr.  Marks ; 
"but  I'll  go." 

Left  alone,  Mr.  Warwick  next  subjected  the 
floor  of  the  vault  to  as  close  an  inspection  as 
that  which  he  had  bestowed  on  the  safe,  until 
he  was  convinced  that  no  object,  though  it  had 
been  only  the  size  of  a  pin,  could  have  escaped 
his  observation.  He  then  took  in  hand  the  safe 
containing  the  documents.  Every  separate  vol- 
ume, every  box,  and  each  package  of  papers, 
passed  under  the  scrutiny  of  his  keen  eye  and 
industrious  fingers.  But,  as  Mr.  Marks  had  pre- 
dicted, he  found  nothing. 

It  was  with  a  sense  of  decided,  though  even 
to  himself  unacknowledged^  discouragement,  that 
he  remounted  the  stairs  to  the  room  above.  Mr. 
Marks  was  sitting  in  a  drooping  attitude,  with 
his  eyes,  but  not  his  thoughts,  fixed  on  the  clerk, 
who  knelt  upon  the  hearth,  trying  to  ignite  a 
hopeless-looking  pile  of  wood  which  he  had  just 
put  on  the  andirons.  In  their  excitement  and 
preoccupation  of  mind,  both  himself  and  his  prin- 
cipal had  forgotten  the  fire  that  afternoon — the 
more  readily,  as  the  day  had  been  a  very  mild 
one.  But  the  evening  closed  in  cold ;  and  poor 
Hugh,  who  was  feeling  almost  as  wretchedly  in 
body  as  in  mind,  shivered  at  the  cheerless  aspect 
of  the  apartment,  as  much  as  at  its  chilly  tem- 
perature, when  he  returned  from  his  boarding- 
kouse.  The  hearth,  that  always  gave  forth  such 
a  cheerful  glow  and  warmth,  was  cold  and  dark 
now — like  the  ill-fortune  that  had  so  unexpect- 
edly come  upon  them,  he  could  not  help  think- 
ing— though  he  was  not  addicted  to  a  poetical 
turn  of  thought  usually. 

Mr.  Warwick  walked  up  to  his  brother-in-law 
and  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  kindly.  "  Take 
my  advice,  Richard,"  he  said.  "  Go  home  and 
go  to  bed.  There's  nothing  more  for  you  to  do 
here  ;  and  you  look  thoroughly  used  up.  I  want 
to  ask  Hugh  a  few  questions  about  his  visitors 
of  last  night ;  but  I  shall  not  be  long.  Tell  Bes- 
eie,  if  you  please,  to  have  some  hot  coffee  ready 
for  me — I  have  had  no  dinner." 

"  I  can  wait  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Marks. — "  By- 
the-way,  Hugh,  hadn't  you  better  have  got  some- 
body to  stay  with  you  to-night  ?  " 

"  What  for  ?  "  demanded  Hugh,  coloring  with 
boyish  mortification.  "There's  no  such  good 
luck  as  that  those  villains  should  take  it  into 
their  heads  to  come  back.  I  only  wish  they 
would.  I'd  know  how  to  deal  with  them  this 
time'" 


"  And,"  pursued  Mr.  Marks,  who  was  a  kind, 
hearted  man,  considerate  of  the  comfort  of  those 
about  him,  and  feeling  now  some  self-reproach  as 
he  remembered  how  little  attention  he  had  paid 
to  the  pains  and  bruises  which  the  clerk  had 
incurred,  though  unavailingly,  in  the  dischar^o 
of  his  duty — "  and  I  don't  believe  Tom  has  been 
here  to  attend  to  your  room  to-day,  has  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  came  this  morning,  but  it  was 
while  the  house  was  full,  and  every  thing  in  con- 
fusion ;  so  I  told  him  to  never  mind  about  it." 

"  I'll  go  and  send  him  now,  then. — You  might 
as  well  come  with  me,  John.  It  must  be  getting 
late,  and  I  should  think  that,  as  you  had  no  din- 
ner, you'd  be  hungry." 

"  I  am.  But  waiting  a  little  longer  makes 
no  difference  ;  and  I  must  take  a  look  at  Hugh's 
room.  It  is  only  eight  o'clock,"  he  added,  con- 
sulting his  watch.  .  "  I  will  follow  you  in  half 
an  hour,  or  less  time,  perhaps." 

Mr.  Marks  made  no  further  remonstrance,  but 
rose,  said  good-night,  and  departed. 

"  Now,  Hugh,  let  me  see  your  room,"  said  Mr 
Warwick.  "  I  am  glad  that  it  has  not  been  med- 
dled with.  Did  you  look  about  to  find  if — 
Humph ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  at  this  moment  he 
stepped  into  the  apartment  in  question,  which 
adjoined  the  cashier's  room.  "  Humph  !  " 

It  was  a  comfortless-looking  dormitory  at 
present,  certainly.  The  bedclothing,  including 
the  mattresses,  had  been  tumbled  off  one  side 
of  the  French  bedstead,  and  lay  in  a  disordered 
heap  upon  the  floor,  which  was  strewed  with 
strips  and  fragments  resembling  hospital-linen, 
for  much  of  it  was  crumpled  and  bloody,  like 
soiled  bandages.  Hugh  explained  that  he  had 
been  tied  down  to  the  bedstead  itself,  which,  no 
doubt,  was  bared  for  that  purpose.  The  sheets 
had  been  torn  up,  and  twisted  into  a  rough  imi- 
tation of  rope,  with  which  he  was  bound. 

"  The  scoundrels  seemed  to  understand  their 
business,"  said  the  young  man.  "  You  see  they 
made  notches  in  the  side  of  the  bedstead  here 
near  the  head,  to  keep  the  bands  I  was  tied 
with  from  slipping." 

Mr.  Warwick  bent  over,  and  looked  closely 
at  the  spot  pointed  out.  The  bedstead  was  of 
walnut-wood,  and  the  notches  appeared  to  have 
been  cut  into  it  without  difficulty,  as  they  were 
at  least  an  inch  deep.  "  The  wood  is  soft,"  he 
remarked.  "  This  looks  as  if  it  had  been  cut 
with  a  pocket-knife." 

He  stepped  toward  the  foot  of  the  bed  as 
he  spoke,  and  again  leaned  down  to  examine 
whether  there  were  notches  there  too.  There 


TWO   AND   TWO   MAKE    FOUR. 


191 


teas  one  great  gash — obviously  the  commence- 
ment of  a  notch — but  that  was  all.  In  holding 
the  candle  so  that  the  light  would  fall  full  upon 
this,  Mr.  Warwick's  eye  was  attracted  to  a 
small,  glittering  object  upon  the  carpet  just  at 
the  side  of  the  bed,  and,  stooping,  he  picked  it 
up. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  Hugh,  as  the  lawyer 
attered  a  slight  exclamation. 

"  A  fragment  of  the  blade  of  a  knife,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Warwick,  quietly,  but  his  eyes  spar- 
kled. "  Something  may  be  made  of  this,  I 
hope,"  he  added,  examining  it  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  do  you  really  think  so,  Mr.  Warwick  ?  " 
said  Hugh,  joyfully. 

"  T  hope  so.  It  was  broken  in  the  attempt  to 
make  that  notch." 

"  And  you  think,  sir,  you  can  trace  them  out 
by  it  ?  " 

"  I  shall  try.  It  is  a  point  to  begin  with  ; 
and  in  an  affair  of  this  kind,  as  in  every  thing 
else,  the  first  step  is  almost  always  the  most 
difficult.  I  shall  sleep  the  better  to-night  for 
having  found  this  little  bit  of  metal.  Here — hold 
the  candle  a  minute ! " 

Hugh  extended  a  hand  trembling  with  excite- 
ment for  the  candle,  and  Mr.  Warwick  took  out 
his  pocket-book  and  carefully  placed  the  broken 
blade  in  an  inner  compartment  of  it. 

"  Don't  be  too  sanguine,"  he  said  to  Hugh, 
as  he  fastened'  the  clasp,  and  returned  the  book 
to  his  pocket.  "  And  don't  mention  my  having 
found  this  to  any  body — least  of  all,  to  Marks — 
for  it  may  turn  out  nothing.  But,"  he  added,  as 
he  saw  Hugh's  face  fall  at  these  words,  "  I  think  it 
is  a  clew.  Good-night.  There's  Tom  coming,  and 
I'll  go.  Oh  ! — don't  have  any  sweeping  done 
to-night.  I  will  be  here  early  in  the  morning, 
and  we  can  then  make  a  more  careful  search  of 
the  room,  and  may  possibly  find  something  else. 
I  don't  like  to  keep  my  sister  waiting  for  me  so 
long ;  and  this  does  very  well  for  a  beginning. 
Mind,  Hugh,  that  you  hold  your  tongue !  " 

"  I  will,  Mr.  Warwick." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  of  another  call  from  your 
friends,  the  burglars  ?  " 

"Afraid?  I  should  think  not!"  cried  the 
young  man,  flushing,  and  half  offended  by  the 
question. 

"  Well,  good-night,"  said  Mr.  Warwick. 
*  Here's  Tom  " 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

TWO    AND   TWO   MAKE   FOUR. 

"  JOHN,  John,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  got  back 
at  last ! "  was  Mrs.  Marks's  greeting  to  her 
brother,  when  he  entered  the  dining-room, 
where  a  bright  fire  and  the  supper-table  were 
waiting  for  him.  She  had  been  crying  all  day, 
poor  woman,  but  the  fountain  of  her  tears  was 
not  exhausted.  It  gave  forth  a  plentiful  supply 
of  briny  drops,  as  Mr.  Warwick  smiled  kindly, 
kissed  her,  and  told  her  to  dry  her  eyes,  and 
give  him  some  supper,  for  that  he  was  tired  and 
hungry. 

"  Richard  has  gone  to  bed,  I  hope  ?  "  said 
he,  as  Mrs.  Marks  began  to  take  up  from  the 
hearth,  where  they  were  ranged  in  a  semicircle 
to  keep  warm,  various  dishes,  which  she  placed 
upon  the  table,  himself  hastening  to  assist  her 
in  doing  so. 

"  Yes,  he's  gone  to  bed  " — a  profound  sigh 
— "  but  there's  no  sleep  for  him  this  night,  1 
know.  Seventy -five  thousand,  four  hundred 
and  seventy  dollars,  John,"  pursued  poor  Mrs. 
Marks,  with  <i  ludicrous,  unconscious  imitation 
of  her  husband's  manner,  that  made  Mr.  War- 
wick smile,  despite  his  sincere  sympathy  with 
the  distress  which  seemed  so  out  of  place  on 
the  round,  good  -  natured  face  before  him. 
"  More  than  twice  as  much  as  Richard  is 
worth,  counting  every  sixpence  he  has  got  in 
the  world  ! — and  he  blames  himself  for  it  all — 
and  I'm  sure  he  must  blame  me,  though  he 
don't  say  so  " — the  tears  burst  forth  afresh — 
"  and  five  little  children—" 

"  Stop  a  minute,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  stem- 
ming the  torrent  of  words  that  promised  to  flow 
on  uninterruptedly  for  an  indefinite  time  to  come. 
"Blames  himself?  What  does  he  blame  him- 
self for  ?  " 

"  He  says  he  ought  never  to  have  left  the 
bank.  That  a  cashier's  business  and  duty  is  to 
protect,  by  his  constant  presence,  the  property 
committed  to  his  charge ;  and  that,  instead  of 
leaving  poor  Hugh  to  bear  the  brunt  of  the 
danger,  and  get  beaten  and  bruised  nearly 
to  death,  he  ought  to  have  been  there  himself. 
And  you  know  it  was  my  fault,  John,  that 
we  left  the  bank,  because  it  was  such  a  nasty, 
cooped-up  place  for  the  children,  compared  to 
this  house." 

"  All  this  sort  of  talk  is  nonsense,  Bessie," 
said  Mr.  Warwick.  "  Marks  is  very  much  out  of 


199 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


spirits,  of  course  ;  but  he  will  find  that  matters 
are  not  so  bad,  after  all  He  has  been  prompt  in 
taking  the  steps  necessary  in  the  business,  and 
the  only  uneasiness  I  feel  now  is  about  the  spe- 
3ie.  I  have  no  doubt  the  greater  part  of  that 
can  be  recovered — but  not  the  whole,  prob- 
ably. As  to  the  notes  —  you  need  not  trou- 
ble yourself  about  them,  I  assure  you.  The 
scoundrels  will  find  that  the  fifty  thousand 
dollars  might  as  well  be  blank  paper  so  far 
as  they  are  concerned.  In  fact,  it  is  certain 
to  bring  detection  upon  them  if  they  try  to 
pass  it." 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  can  be,"  said  Mrs. 
Marks,  drying  her  eyes  once  more,  but  looking 
very  doubtful.  "  It's  money.  All  they've  got  to 
do  is  to  cut  it  apart.  It's  signed,  every  bit  of 
it." 

"  And  numbered  too,  fortunately.  Never 
mind  puzzling  yourself  with  the  matter.  You 
can  take  my  word  for  it,  can't  you  ?  " 

"I  suppose  so.  But  John,  are  you  quite 
sure — " 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said,  as  she  paused,  and  the  in- 
exhaustible fountain  began  welling  forth  from 
her  eyes  again. 

"  Are  you  sure  we  shall  not  be  ruined — 
and  "  —  sob  —  "  that  Richard's  character  — 
won't—" 

"  Bessie,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  in  such  a  very 
quiet  tone,  that  Bessie's  eyes  opened  wide  in 
startled  surprise,  and  the  drops  with  which  they 
were  brimming  stood  arrested  in  their  fall — 
"  Bessie,  have  you  quite  forgotten  that  you  once 
bore  the  name  of  Warwick  ?  " 

The  poor  woman  was  bewildered.  Never 
very  quick  of  apprehension,  she  was  totally  un- 
able now  to  perceive  the  connection  between 
this  "  awful "  bank  robbery  and  her  own  maiden 
name ;  and,  after  a  troubled  pause  of  considera- 
tion, she  looked  inquiringly  into  her  brother's 
face. 

"  I  asked  the  question,"  continued  he,  "  be- 
cause I  confess  that  I  am  mortified  to  find  that 
my  sister " — he  laid  a  strong  emphasis  on  the 
last  two  words — "  instead  of  being  courageous 
and  cheerful  in  this  misfortune  which  has  be- 
fallen her  husband,  as  a  brave  woman  and  good 
wife  ought  to  be,  is  giving  way  to  unreasonable 
and  extravagant  lamentations  that  must  make  it 
twice  as  hard — " 

"  Oh,  no !  you  don't  mean  that  I  have  made 
It  harder  for  Richard  to  bear  !  Surely  you  don't 
think  that » " 

"  I  know  it.'* 


She  wrung  her  hands  spasmodically.  "  Whad 
can  I  do — what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  can  act  like  a  sensible  woman,  and  re- 
member that  the  loss  of  money — even  if  Marks 
loses  any,  which  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  he 
will—" 

"  He  says  he  intends  to  refund  every  cent 
that  the  bank  loses,  whether  it  is  required  of  him 
or  not,  and  if  it  takes  all  that  he  owns  in  the 
world." 

"  He  may  be  a  few  thousands  out  of  pock- 
et, then — but  what  of  that  ?  If,  instead  of  los- 
ing a  little  money — or,  we  will  say  a  good  deal  of 
money — he  or  some  of  the  children  were  to 
die—" 

"  John ! "  gasped  his  sister,  turning  very 
pale. 

"  I  think  you  would  feel  what  a  trifle,  com- 
paratively speaking,  this  whole  business  is,"  went 
on  Mr.  Warwick,  without  noticing  her  horrified 
ejaculation — "  and  be  glad  that  trouble,  which 
you  know  everybody  has  to  endure  in  this  world, 
Bessie,  has  come  in  this  form,  instead  of  a 
worse." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  glad — and  thankful  to  God," 
said  she,  in  a  subdued,  rather  awe-struck  tone. 
"  And  thankful  to  you,  John,  for  reminding  DM 
of  it,"  she  added. 

He  smiled  encouragingly,  and  told  her  he  had 
no  doubt  this  wretched  business  might  be  set  to 
rights  in  the  end ;  but  that,  mea'nwhile,  he  ex- 
pected to  see  her  hopeful  and  brave.  Then  he 
went  to  a  side-table,  where  a  chamber  candlestick 
was  ready  for  him,  and,  as  he  lighted  it,  asked 
whether  she  thought  Marks  was  asleep  yet.  "  I 
won't  disturb  him,  if  he  is;  but  I  should  like  to 
speak  to  him  a  moment,  if  he  is  not.  Will  you 
see,  Bessie,  if  you  please  ?  " 

She  went,  merely  opened  the  chamber-door, 
glanced  in,  and  returned. 

"He's  wide  awake,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"I  will  go  and  speak  to  him,  then.  Good- 
night." 

"  Come  in,"  responded  Mr.  Marks's  voice, 
when  his  brother-in-law  knocked  at  his  door  a 
minute  later. 

Mr.  Warwick  walked  up  to  the  bed,  and  found 
the  afflicted  cashier  lying  straight  and  motionless 
on  his  back,  with  his  arms  thrown  up  over  the 
pillow,  his  haifcds  folded  one  upon  the  other 
above  his  head,  and  the  same  expression  of 
stolid  endurance  on  his  face  that  it  had  worn 
when  he  was  at  the  bank. 

"  I  have  just  been  scolding  Bessie,  Dick,' 
said  Bessie's  brother,  with  a  sixile  that  had 


TWO   AND   TWO   MAKE   FOUR. 


193 


humor  as  well  as  cheerful  kindness  in  it — "and 
I  have  come  to  give  you  your  share  now.  Why, 
zounds !  what's  the  use  of  being  a  man,  if  you 
can't  bear  the  ills  of  life  like  a  man !  It  is 
natural  that  you  should  feel  this  severely ;  it  is 
a  bad  business,  as  it  stands  just  at  present.  But 
you  must  not  look  only  on  the  dark  side  of  it. 
The  money  may  be  recovered — will  be  recovered, 
I  believe.  You  know  whether  I  am  in  the  habit 
of  talking  at  random,  or  of  boasting ;  and  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  of  being 
able  to  track  down  the  villains — in  time.  We 
must  have  patience,  and  not  be  discouraged  be- 
cause it  is  impossible  to  find  them  at  once.  I 
have  made  a  little  discovery  since  I  saw  you — " 

"  You  don't  say  so !  "  cried  Mr.  Marks,  start- 
ing up  and  leaning  on  his  elbow,  as  he  gazed 
eagerly  up  into  the  other's  face.  "  What  is  it  ? 
—what—  ?  " 

"Never  mind  as  to  that.  It  is  something 
that  Hugh  and  myself  found  out  after  you  left. 
Don't  question  Hugh  in  the  morning.  I  told 
him  not  to  say  any  thing  to  you  about  it.  I 
should  not  have  mentioned  it  myself  if  it  had  not 
been  that  I  see  you  need  stirring  up  a  little. 
Between  Bessie  and  yourself,  you  are  making 
this  affair  twice  as  bad  as  there's  any  necessity 
for." 

"  It's  harder  to  bear  than  you  think  for," 
said  Mr.  Marks,  apologetically.  But,  his  face 
had  cleared  very  much,  and  he  was  looking  alto- 
gether ten  per  cent,  better  than  he  did  when  his 
brother-in-law  entered  the  room. 

"  A  good  many  things  in  this  world  are  hard 
to  bear,"  said  Mr.  Warwick ;  and — not  at  all 
pertinently  to  the  subject  of  which  they  were 
talking — he  sighed  under  his  breath.  "  Well, 
gooJ-night.  I  hope  you  will  go  to  sleep  now, 
and  be  yourself  again  in  the  morning.  Rest 
assured  that  I  am  sanguine  of  recovering  the 
money." 

He  went  to  his  own  room,  and  the  first  thing 
he  did  was  to  take  out  his  pocket-book,  and 
examine  again  the  fragment  of  knife-blade  which 
he  had  found.  Then  he  sat  down  before  the  fire, 
stirred  it,  absently,  put  the  tongs  back  into 
their  place,  and  gazing  at  the  leaping  and  curl- 
ing flames,  and  the  glowing  cavern  that  he  had 
made  beneath  them,  he  remained  for  a  long  time 
absorbed  in  deep  thought. 

He  rose  early  the  next  morning,  and  at  an 
hour  when  he  was  usually  asleep,  took  his  way 
into  the  village,  which  was  just  beginning  to 
show  signs  of  awakening  life.  Shopkeepers 
were  opening  their  doors  and  windows,  and 


drowsy-looking  servants  were  sweeping  off  door- 
steps, and  gossiping  with  each  other,  as  they 
leaned  on  their  brooms ;  exchanging  items  of 
information  concerning  the  great  bank  robbery, 
which  was  the  topic  of  conversation  with  white 
and  black  in  Tallahoma  just  then. 

Mr.  Warwick  paused  at  the  entrance  of  a 
store,  near  the  open  door  of  which  a  negro  boy 
was  lazily  shaking  a  foot-mat,  wondering  to  him- 
self the  while,  "  what  had  brought  Mr.  Worruck 
out  that  time  in  the  morning." 

"  Your  master  here  yet,  Bill  ?  "  said  the  law- 
yer, pointing  into  the  store. 

"  No,  sir — nobody's  here  yit  but  me  and  Mass 
Jimmy." 

To  his  surprise,  Mr.  Warwick,  instead  of  pass- 
ing on,  entered  the  door.  Probably  that  gentle- 
man bad  never  before  been  conscious  of  the 
existence  of  "  little  Jimmy  Powell,"  certainly  he 
had  never  noticed  the  boy  particularly.  But  he 
looked  closely  now,  as  he  walked  into  the  store, 
and  encountered  the  gaze  of  a  pair  of  remarkably 
quick  and  intelligent  eyes,  the  owner  of  which 
was  seated  on  the  front  edge  of  a  counter,  with 
one  leg  doubled  under  him,  while  the  other  dan. 
gled  over,  and  kept  up  a  swinging,  kicking  ac- 
companiment to  an  air  he  was  whistling.  A 
bright  face — altogether  not  an  ordinary  boy,  Mr. 
Warwick  thought — small  for  his  age  ;  for,  though 
he  was  thirteen  or  fourteen  at  least,  his  size  and 
delicate  physique  made  him  appear  a  year  or  two 
younger. 

"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Warwick  ?  Can  I  do  any 
thing  for  you  this  morning,  sir  ? "  he  said,  at 
once  dexterously  slipping  backward  across  the 
counter,  and  landing  on  his  feet  on  the  opposite 
side,  where  he  stood  with  the  attentive  and  busi- 
ness air  of  a  well-trained  clerk. 

"  Yes,  I  wish  to  see  some  penknives,"  said 
Mr.  Warwick,  with  a  half  smile  at  the  serious 
clerkliness  of  the  little  man's  manner. 

At  the  word  penknives,  there  was  a  flash  of 
intelligence  in  the  boy's  face,  but  he  said  noth- 
ing. Turning  quickly  to  one  of  the  shelves  be- 
hind him,  he  took  from  it  a  box,  which  he 
brought  and  placed  on  the  counter,  and,  open- 
ing it,  proceeded  silently  to  display  several  kinds 
of  knives.  Mr.  Warwick  examined  them,  one 
after  the  other,  and  finally  looked  up,  or,  rather, 
looked  over,  at  the  countenance  that  was  just  on 
a  level  with  his  own  hands.  The  expression  of 
that  countenance  surprised  him  a  little,  there 
was  so  much  shrewd  interest  and  curiosity  in  it; 
and  yet  not  vulgar  curiosity,  either,  for  the  boy 
restrained  it  the  moment  he  perceived  that  it 


194 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


waa  observed,  replying  with  modest  brevity  to 
the  questions  as  to  the  price  of  the  knives,  which 
his  customer  asked.  The  latter  had  been  wait- 
ing to  see  whether  the  little  clerk  would  volun- 
teer some  information  which  he  wished  to  obtain, 
but,  finding  that  there  was  no  probability  of  this, 
he  now  opened  the  conversation  himself  as  he 
paid  for  one  of  the  knives. 

"  You  have  heard  all  about  the  bank  robbery, 
of  course  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  was  the  answer ;  and  the  bright, 
brown  eyes  shot  another  ray  of  intelligence,  and 
then  looked  gravely  attentive. 

"  You  know  then,  probably,  that  Hugh  Ellis 
thinks  he  recognized  one  of  the  burglars  in  a 
man  who  was  in  the  bank  the  day  before  the 
robbery  was  committed ;  and  he  .tells  me  that 
the  only  information  he  can  get  about  this  man 
is,  that  a  person  answering  to  his  description 
was  here  in  your  father's  store  that  same  day, 
and  nearly  about  the  same  hour,  and  that  you 
sold  a  penknife  to  him.  Do  you  remember  what 
sort  of  a  knife  it  was  ?  " 

"  It  was  like  the  one  you  have  just  bought, 
sir." 

"  Ah !     You  are  sure  ?  " 

"  Certain  sure,  Mr.  Warwick." 

"  You  recollect  selling  the  knife,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Can  you  describe  the  man's  appearance  to 
me?" 

"  He  was  as  tall  as  you  are,  sir — maybe  a  lit- 
tle taller,  for  he  stood  just  where  you  are  stand- 
ing now,  and  I  had  to  look  'way  up  to  see  his 
face.  He  had  sandy,  bushy  hair,  and  a  very  red 
face,  and  he  was  dressed  in  a  shabby  suit  of 
black." 

"Would  you  have  taken  him  for  a  gentle- 
man ?  " 

The  boy  hesitated. 

"  I  hardly  know,  sir,  whether  he  was  or  not. 
He  looked  something  like  a  gentleman,  but — his 
linen  was  soiled." 

"  What  sort  of  money  did  he  pay  for  the  knife 
with  ?  " 

"  He  offered  me  a  very  dirty  five-dollar  bill 
that  was  all  torn.  But  I  wouldn't  take  it,  and 
then  he  paid  in  silver." 

"A  five-dollar  bill?"  said  Mr.  Warwick, 
whose  interest  had  been  quickening,  and  his 
hopes  rising,  with  each  successive  reply  to  his 
questions.  "  Did  you  notice  what  bill  it  was — 
of  what  bank,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  threw  it  down  on  the  coun- 
ter, and  I  took  it  up  and  looked  at  it  a  min- 


ute.    It  was   a   '  Commercial   Bank  of  A 
note." 

"  Humph  !  "  cried  Mr.  Warwick.  "  It  must 
have  been  the  same  fellow  who  was  at  the  bank. 

A  '  Commercial  Bank  of  A '  note,  and  very 

ragged,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Very  ragged  indeed.  I  don't  think  it  was 
a  counterfeit,"  added  the  boy,  thoughtfully ; 
"  but  it  was  too  ragged  to  pass  anywhere ;  and 
so  I  told  him  I  couldn't  take  it." 

"  Why  did  you  think  of  its  being  counter- 
feit ?  "  asked  the  lawyer,  a  little  surprised  at  this 
remark. 

"Because  I  didn't  like  the  man's  looks,  sir, 
and  I  thought  he  mightn't  be  too  good  to  pass 
counterfeit  money.  There's  a  good  deal  of  it 
about  now,  you  know.  He  never  once  looked 
me  straight  in  the  face,  though  I  tried  my  best 
to  catch  his  eyes.  But  they  kept  moving  about, 
first  to  one  place,  and  then  to  another." 

"  Ah  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Warwick,  with  an  em- 
phasis that  was  almost  startling. 

"Yes,  sir.  He  looked  so" — and  the  boy 
glanced  about  him  in  a  quick,  uncertain  sort  of 
way,  rolling  his  eyes  from  side  to  side  with  a 
restless  movement  that  brought  vividly  to  Mr. 
Warwick's  recollection  the  eyes  of  the  quack 
doctor  in  Hartsburg. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  color  of  his  eyes  ?  " 

"  They  were  of  a  light  greenish  blue,  sir." 

Mr.  Warwick  stood  silent  for  a  full  minute, 
evidently  in  deep  thought.  He  was  trying  to 
recall  to  mind  the  appearance  of  the  quack  doc- 
tor ;  but,  with  the  exception  of  the  restless  eyes, 
his  memory  was  for  once  totally  at  fault.  He 
had  a  general  but  very  vague  impression  that 
the  man  was  tall,  and  that  his  hair  was  not 
"  sandy  and  bushy."  Nevertheless,  the  repre- 
sentation given  of  the  stranger's  eyes — the  very 
pose  of  the  boy's  head  while  rendering  the  imi- 
tation— brought  back  so  forcibly  the  look  of 
Dr.  Joyner,  as  he  called  himself,  that  Mr.  War- 
wick felt  morally  sure  that,  in  common  parlance, 
he  had  "  struck  the  trail " — and,  it  is  needless  to 
say,  he  resolved  to  pursue  it. 

"  Well,  Jimmy,"  he  said,  looking  down  with  a 
smile,  "  I  think  you  have  given  me  some  valu- 
able information,  and  that  you  can  help  me  still 
further  in  this  matter,  if  you  are  willing  to  do 
so." 

A  quick  flash  came  to  the  upraised  face, 
and  the  boy's  eyes  sparkled  with  eagerness,  as 
he  replied  :  "  I  wish  I  could,  sir." 

"  Do  you  think  you  would  know  the  man  if 
you  saw  him  again  ?  " 


TWO   AND   TWO   MAKE   FOUR. 


195 


"  Yes,  sir,  I'd  know  him  anywhere." 

"  You  are  at  the  store  here  all  the  time,  are 
rou  not?" 

"  Yes,  sir."  The  little  fellow  sighed  as  he 
spoke. 

"  I  ask,  because  I  should  like  to  see  you 
again  after  breakfast.  Good-morning  for  the 
present." 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Warwick." 

"  By-the-by,"  said  the  lawyer,  turning  back 
as  he  was  about  to  cross  the  threshold,  on  his 
way  out  of  the  store ;  "  by-the-by,  my  little  friend, 
I  had  rather  you  did  not  mention  to  anybody — 
excepting  your  father,  if  it  comes  in  the  way — 
what  I  have  been  asking  you,  and  what  you  have 
told  me.  I  want  to  trace  out  this  man  that  we 
have  been  speaking  of,  and,  in  a  matter  of  the 
kind,  talking  ruins  every  thing." 

"  I  know  that,  Mr.  Warwick.  I'll  not  say  a 
word." 

From  Mr.  Powell's  store  the  lawyer  went  to 
the  stage-office,  as  it  was  called,  to  find  out,  if 
possible,  whether  the  man  he  was  in  search  of 
had  left  Tallahoma  by  any  of  the  several  lines  of 
public  conveyances  that  ran  to  and  from  the 
place — Tallahoma,  though  in  itself  an  inconsid- 
erable village,  being  on  one  of  the  principal  thor- 
oughfares of  travel  in  the  State.  He  did  not 
succeed  in  obtaining  any  information ;  and  was 
feeling  very  much  "  at  sea,"  as  he  walked  med- 
itatively toward  the  bank,  when,  just  as  he  was 
turning  a  corner,  he  met  the  Chesselton  hack 
coming  in.  Instantly  it  flashed  upon  him,  as  by 
an  inspiration,  that  it  was  more  likely  a  man 
trying  to  escape  observation  would  take  this, 
which  was  a  less  public  line  of  travel  —  more 
merely  local — than  those  he  had  been  thinking 
of.  The  Chesselton  hack,  he  remembered,  ran 
only  three  times  a  week,  and  consequently,  though 
Chesselton  was  but  twenty-eight  miles  from  Tal- 
lahoma, communication  was  much  less  easy  and 
frequent  than  with  Saxford,  for  instance,  to 
which  there  was  a  double  daily  line — both  a 
coach  and  hack  line.  To  a  man  endeavoring  to 
evade  detection,  it  was  a  desirable  consideration 
to  be  as  much  out  of  the  way  of  quick  communi- 
cation as  possible.  The  hack  left  Tallahoma  on 
Tuesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Saturdays,  returning 
on  the  night  of  the  same  day  it  left ;  that  is, 
making  the  round  trip  in  twenty-four  hours. 
And  the  maty-looking  vehicle,  the  appearance 
of  which  had  suggested  these  reflections,  had 
now  just  arrived  from  its  Thursday  trip  for  the 
current  week.  This  was  Friday  morning,  and 
there  would  be  no  further  mail  communication 


with  Chesselton  until  Saturday — an  excellent  op- 
portunity  for  a  thief  who  had  taken  refuge  there 
to  make  good  his  escape  farther,  undoubtedly. 

These  thoughts  passed  rapidly  through  Mr. 
Warwick's  mind  as  he  turned  and  followed  the 
hack  to  the  hotel  where  it  stopped,  in  order  to 
speak  to  the  driver.  He  paused  at  the  entrance 
of  the  stable-yard  into  which  the  carriage  was 
driven  after  discharging  its  passengers  at  the 
hotel-door,  to  wait  until  the  driver  descended 
from  his  seat. 

"  Gillespie ! "  he  called,  as  the  official  seemed 
likely  to  prolong  interminably  his  directions  to 
and  gossip  with  the  hostlers  who  surrounded  him 
and  his  horses.  "  Gillespie  ! " — the  man  turned 
to  see  who  had  spoken  to  him — "just  step  here  a 
minute." 

"  How-d'ye-do,  Mr.  Worruck  ?  Was  it  me 
you  was  callin'  to  ?  "  inquired  the  man,  approach- 
ing him. 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  speak  to  you."  He  looked 
round,  and,  seeing  that  nobody  was  within  ear 
shot,  went  on :  "I  am  trying  to  find  out  some 
thing  about  that  bad  business  which  happened 
night  before  last  at  the  bank,  and  I  want  to 
know  what  passengers  you  took  over  to  Ches- 
selton yesterday ;  whether  a  fellow  who  was 
hanging  about  town  here  the  day  before  the  rob- 
bery,  and  who,  Hugh  Ellis  thinks,  was  one  of  the 
burglars,  may  not  have  been  among  them  ?  " 

The  driver  shook  his  head. 

"  I  was  keepin'  a  sharp  lookout  myself,  Mr. 
Worruck,  for  I'd  like  monstously  to  have  the 
handlin'  of  that  five  thousand  dollars  reward 
that  Mr.  Marks  offered  for  the  apperhension  of 
the  thieves  " — he  chuckled  at  the  bare  thought 
of  handling  it — "but  I  hain't  seed  nobody  sence 
I  left  Tallyhomy  that  answered  to  the  descrip- 
tion of  either  of  'em,  I'm  sorry  to  say.  There 
wasn't  as  many  passengers  as  usual  yisterday. 
Only  one  old  gentleman,  and  a  man  and  his  wife, 
and—" 

"  But,"  interrupted  Mr.  Warwick,  "  did  you 
take  up  no  passengers  by  the  way  ?  " 

"  I  tuk  up  two ;  but  one  was  a  woman,  and 
the  other  didn't  noways  curryspond  to  the  de- 
scriptions I  heard  from  Mr.  Ellis.  He  didn't 
have  on  black  does,  nor  yit  a  great-coat,  I 
noticed  particilar.  And  he  wore  a  curous  kind 
a  specktickles  sich  as  I  never  seed  before,  that 
stood  out  like  a  couple  of  leather  cups  before  his 
eyes." 

"  Goggles,  I  suppose?  "  said  Mr.  Warwick. 

"  Mebbe  so.  Anyhow,  he  didn't  answer  t« 
the  descriptions." 


196 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"He  may  have  changed  his  dress,  and  put  on 
the  goggles  to  avoid  detection,"  said  the  lawyer. 
"  What  sort  of  looking  man  was  he,  and  how  was 
he  dressed  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  good-lookin'  man,  or  would  a  bin, 
if  he  hadn't  had  on  them — guggles,  did  you  call 
»em? — they  give  him  a  out-of-the-way  sort  of 
look.  He  was  dressed  well  enough — drab  breech- 
es and  a  brown  surtout.  But,  with  them  things 
btickin'  out  two  inches  from  his  face,  with  green 
glasses  at  the  top  of  'em,  he  had  a  curous  look." 

"  What  sized  man  was  he  ?  " 

"A  stout  fellow.  Six  feet — more'n  that,  I 
reckon." 

"  Where  did  you  take  him  up  ?  " 

"  At  Moonie's — the  second  stage-house  from 
here,  you  know." 

"  Twenty  miles  from  here,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  twenty  miles  —  and  good  ones, 
too." 

"  How  far  did  he  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  He  stopped  a  little  this  side  of  Chessel- 
ton." 

"  And  did  you  see  any  thing  of  him  after- 
ward ?  " 

"  Never  sot  eyes  on  him  after  he  got  out  of 
the  hack  when  I  stopped  at  Spring  Creek  to 
water  my  horses.  He  said  he'd  git  out  and 
stretch  his  legs  by  walkin'  the  rest  of  the  way, 
as  he  was  goin'  to  a  private  house  in  the  country 
nigh  by." 

"  Did  he  have  no  baggage  ?  " 

"  A  black  leather  travellin'-bag,  not  very  big, 
as  you  may  know — for  he  tuk  it  into  the  stage 
with  him,  and  sot  it  down  betwixt  his  feet." 

"  And  you  don't  think  it  likely  he  was  the 
man  Hugh  Ellis  saw  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  it  noways  likely  it  was  the 
same  man,  sir." 

"  Did  you  notice  the  color  of  his  hair  ?  " 

"Well,  I  didn't,  Mr.  Worruck.  But  I'll  tell 
you  what  I'll  do.  My  next  trip  over  I'll  see  if  I 
can  find  out  who  the  fellow  was,  sence  it  seems 
a  matter  of  intrust  to  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Gillespie.  I  shall  be  obliged  if 
you  will  do  so.  You  go  over  again  to-morrow,  I 
believe  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

After  exchanging  a  few  sentences  more,  Mr. 
Warwick  bade  Gillespie  good-morning,  and  hur- 
ried on  to  the  bank. 

Hugh  Ellis  was  expecting  him  impatiently. 

"  I've  found  something,  too,  Mr.  Warwick," 
he  said,  quite  trembling  with  eagerness,  as  he 
held  up  to  view  a  dark  crimson-and-yellow  silk 


handkerchief  that  was  considerably  worn,  and 
not  a  little  soiled  from  use.  "  I  got  up  as  soon 
as  it  was  light  enough  to  see,  and  hunted  the 
room  over,  and  I  found  this  lying  behind  the 
bed.  How  it  was  that  Tom  didn't  find  it  last 
night  when  he  was  making  up  the  bed  I  don't 
know." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  it  was  dropped  by 
the  burglars  ?  " 

"  It  must  have  been.  How  else  could  it  have 
got  into  my  room  ?  It  is  not  mine.  I  never 
saw  it,  or  one  like  it,  before.  They  must  have 
dropped  it." 

"  It  may  have  been  dropped  by  some  of  the 
people  who  were  here  yesterday." 

"  No,  sir ;  impossible.  Nobody  was  in  my 
room.  I  shut  the  door  and  locked  it." 

"  It  may  be  Tom's." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Hugh,  decidedly ; 
but  he  looked  a  little  crestfallen.  "  I'll  go  and 
ask  him,"  he  continued,  starting  toward  the  door, 
carrying  the  handkerchief,  which  he  held  by  one 
corner,  fluttering  along. 

"  Stop,  stop  ! "  said  Mr.  Warwick.  "  Look 
if  it  has  a  name  on  it." 

Hugh,  fingering  it  rather  superciliously,  could 
find  no  name. 

"  Are  silk  handkerchiefs  ever  marked  ?  " 

"  Sometimes.  Put  it  down.  lam  going  to 
breakfast  presently,  and  I  will  ask  Tom  about  it. 
Are  you  certain  that  there  is  nothing  else  to  be 
found  in  the  room  ?  " 

"  I  am  certain,  sir.  I  searched  the  floor  first 
— the  whole  room,  indeed — and  then  I  took  every 
thing  off  the  bed,  and  shook  the  counterpane, 
and  the  sheets,  and  the  blankets,  each  one  sep- 
arately. I  even  took  the  pillow-cases  and  the 
bolster-case  off!  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Warwick,  I 
have  looked  thoroughly." 

"  Very  well.  I  need  not  lose  any  time  here, 
then ;  and  I  am  very  glad  of  that,  for  I  am  going 
to  start  to  Chesselton  directly  after  breakfast. 
See  here ! " 

He  sat  down  to  the  table — they  were  in  the 
cashier's  room — and  put  down  before  him  the 
knife  which  he  had  just  bought  from  Jimmy 
Powell.  Then  he  took  out  his  pocket-book,  pro- 
duced the  fragment  of  blade,  and,  opening  the 
knife,  he  placed  the  fragment  upon  the  whole 
blade.  Hugh  uttered  an  exclamation  as  he  saw 
that  the  two  were  Identical  in  every  respect,  even 
to  the  brilliant  newness  of  the  metal.  Mr.  War- 
wick explained  in  as  few  words  as  possible  all 
that  he  had  learned  from  Jimmy  Powell,  ani 
what  he  had  since  heard  from  the  stage-driver. 


TWO   AND   TWO   MAKE   FOUR. 


197 


"  Now,"  he  said,  when  he  had  concluded  his 
relation,  "  I  am  going  somewhat  upon  a  venture, 
which  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  doing ;  but  I  have 
an  instinct,  amounting  to  a  positive  conviction, 
that  the  man  you  saw,  the  man  who  bought  this 
knife  from  young  Powell" — he  touched  the 
broken  blade — "  the  man  whom  Gillespie  de- 
scribes as  wearing  green  goggles,  and  a  quack 
doctor  that  I  met  last  week  in  Hartsburg,  and 
who,  a  day  or  two  after  I  saw  him,  had  to  take 
French  leave  of  the  place  to  escape  being 
lynched,  are  all  one  and  the  same  individual; 
and  I  shall  take  young  Powell,  who  says  he  can 
identify  the  rascal,  and  see  if  I  can't  find  him.  I 
hope,"  he  added,  as  he  rose  to  go,  "  that— Well, 
Tom,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

Tom,  who  had  at  that  moment  appeared  in 
the  open  door,  responded  to  this  question  by 
another. 

"  Mistiss  say  ain't  you  comin'  home  to  break- 
fast this  mornin',  Mass  John  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  just  going  now.  Is  this  your 
handkerchief  ?  " 

He  took  up  the  article  in  question,  and,  hold- 
ing it  as  Hugh  Ellis  had  done,  by  one  corner, 
exhibited  it  to  the  servant  as  he  advanced. 

"  Mine  ?  No,  sir,"  answered  Tom,  with  sur- 
prise. "  I  never  saw  it  before,  Mass  John." 

"  Well,  Hugh,  I'll  take  it  and  see  if  I  can 
discover  the  owner." 

He  looked  round,  picked  up  a  newspaper, 
and,  wrapping  up  the  handkerchief,  consigned  it 
to  his  coat-pocket. 

"  I  shall  not  see  you  again  before  I  start, 
Hugh,  so  good-by.  How  are  you  feeling  this 
morning,  on  the  whole  ?  " 

"  Dreadfully  stiff,  sir.  I  ache  all  over.  But 
I  don't  mind  that,  so  those  infernal  scoundrels 
are  brought  to  taw,  and  we  get  back  the  mojuey." 

He  said  this  as  he  walked  to  the  door  with 
Mr.  Warwick,  who  paused  there  to  shake  hands 
and  give  him  one  parting  caution. 

"  Not  a  word  to  anybody  about  the  knife  or 
about  my  movements.  In  one  word,  hold  your 
tongue." 

"  Trust  me  to  do  that,  sir." 

Mr.  Marks  was  just  leaving  the  breakfast- 
table,  when  his  brother-in-law  entered  the  room. 
The  little  Markses,  sitting  demure  and  silent — 
they  had  been  involuntary  penitents  during  the 
four-and-twenty  hours  preceding — all  started  up 
with  irrepressible  and  rapturous  cries  of  "  Uuky  ! 
unky !  Here's  unky  !  " 

Even  the  unnaturally-solemn  visage  of  the 
cashier  relaxed  into  a  smile  as  the  little  folk 


bounded  tumultuously  forward,  each  eager  to 
get  "  unky's  "  first  greetings  ;  and  Mrs.  Marks's 
face  beamed  for  a  moment.  But,  before  the 
said  greetings  were  over,  Mr.  Marks  looked  as 
saturnine  as  ever,  and  his  devoted  helpmeet  was 
applying  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  go  yet,  Richard ;  I  have  a  word  to 
say  to  you  presently,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  as  he 
saw  the  former  about  to  leave  the  room. — 
"  Well,  bairns,  have  you  missed  unky  much  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  we  have  !  that  we  have  !  "  was  the 
unanimous  and  rather  stunningly  vociferous  re- 
ply. «  We—" 

"  Hush,  this  minute,  children !  "  cried  their 
mother,  whose  temper  had  not  improved  since 
her  brother's  departure,  a  month  before.  "  Do 
you  want  to  deafen  your  uncle  ?  Go  along  out 
now ;  he  has  other  things  to  think  about  than 
your  nonsense.  Go  along,  all  of  you ! — and, 
John,  do  come  to  breakfast !  " 

"  In  a  minute,"  answered  her  brother,  with- 
out moving  from  where  he  stood,  just  inside  the 
door,  surrounded  by  the  children,  who  were, 
every  one,  clinging  to  him — Jack  and  Dick  hav- 
ing seized  each  an  arm,  Sara  and  I^aty  having 
possession  of  his  hands  respectively,  while  poor 
little  Nelly  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  clasp  her 
two  little  fat  arms  round  his  knee  in  an  ecstasy 
of  noisy  delight.  He  looked  down  on  them  with 
a  smile  which  was  like  sunshine  to  their  little 
hearts,  as  he  listened  to  their  rejoicings  at  hia 
return.  But  again  Mrs.  Marks  began  a  sharp 
remonstrance  and  command  to  them. 

"  Do  let  them  alone,  Bessie  !  "  said  Mr.  War- 
wick, a  little  sharp  in  turn. — "  Here,  Sara — hold 
your  hand." 

Sara's  hand  was  extended  with  astonishing 
quickness,  while  all  the  others  were  breathless 
with  expectation. 

"  Now,  is  it  honor  bright  ?  "  asked  their 
uncle,  appealing  to  them  generally. 

"  Yes,  unky,  honor  bright !  honor  bright !  " 

"  Then,  take  this  key,  Sara,  and  see  what 
you  can  find  in  my  valise.  Go,  all  of  you,  and 
stay  in  my  room  till  I  come.  But  mind — Sara  is 
to  take  the  things  out  and  put  them  on  the  table, 
and  you  must  all  keep  quiet  and  wait  patiently." 

"  Honor  bright ! "  responded  they,  in  a  breath, 
and  were  gone. 

"  Bessie,  do  you  think  it  worth  while  to  punish 
those  poor  children  for  the  fault  of  the  thieves 
who  broke  into  the  bank  ?  "  said  Mr.  Warwick, 
as  he  sat  down  to  the  breakfast-table. 

"  Punish  them,  John  ?  I  don't  know  what 
you  mean  !  I  haven't  been  punishing  them." 


198 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"Yes,  you  have,  and  in  the  worst  possible 
way — by  cloudy  looks  and  unmerited  reproof.  I 
wish  you  would  remember  what  I  said  to  you 
last  night." 

Mrs.  Marks  looked  conscience-stricken,  and 
Mr.  Warwick  turned  to  her  husband,  who  stood 
by  the  fire,  waiting  for  the  word  that  his  brother- 
in-law  had  for  him. 

"  I  have  got  what  I  believe  to  be  a  clew, 
Marks,  and  I  shall  start  immediately  after  break- 
fast to  follow  it  up.  I  don't  know  when  I  shall 
be  back — in  a  day  or  two,  perhaps  ;  but  it  is  not 
certain.  All  I  can  tell  you  is,  that  I  intend  to 
track  down  those  scoundrels.  So,  keep  up  your 
spirits.  You  will  find  that  this  matter  will  all 
come  out  right  at  last." 

"  You  really  think  so  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Marks,  a 
little  doubtfully 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  Did  you  ever  know  me  to 
be  mistaken  in  an  opinion  which  I  expressed 
deliberately  ?  " 

"  Why,  no  ;  I  never  did." 

"  Rely  on  my  opinion  in  this,  then.  If  I  am 
absent  more  than  a  day  or  two,  I  will  write.  ,A.re 
you  going  to  the  bank  now  ?  If  so,  I  will  say 
good-by,  as  I  have  ordered  my  buggy  to  be  ready 
by  the  time  I  have  finished  breakfast." 

"  I'll  see  you  off,"  said  Mr.  Marks,  drawing  a 
chair  toward  the  fire,  and  sitting  down.  "  There's 
no  hurry  about  my  getting  to  the  bank,"  he  added, 
disconsolately. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  John  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Marks. 

"I  am  going  first  to  Morton  House  to  see 
Mrs.  Gordon  for  a  few  minutes,"  answered  Mr. 
Warwick,  evasively.  "  By-the-way,  Bessie — " 

But  Bessie,  to  whom  the  mention  of  Mrs. 
Gordon's  name  recalled  the  remembrance  of  the 
domestic  trouble  which  had  so  much  affijcted  her 
— before  the  more  important  misfortune  of  the 
bank  robbery  occurred,  and  dwarfed  its  import- 
ance, indeed  drove  it  entirely  from  her  mind  for 
the  time  being — interrupted  him  eagerly. 

"  0  John,"  she  cried,  "  every  thing  has  been 
going  wrong  since  you  left  home  !  Would  you 
believe  that  Miss  Tresham  went  away  the  Friday 
after  you  left,  and,  though  she  was  to  have  come 
back  on  Monday,  she's  never  made  her  appear- 
ance from  that  day  to  this  ?  and,  what's  more, 
we  haven't  heard  one  syllable  about  her ! 
What's  become  of  her,  I  can't  understand, 
for—" 

"  Do  you  recollect  what  I  told  you,  Warwick, 
the  day  she  drew  her  salary  at  the  bank,  and 
ranted  it  in  gold  ?  I  remarked  to  you  then 


that  I  suspected  she  was  going  to  leave  us;  and, 
you  see,  I  was  right,"  said  Mr.  Marks,  to  whom  it 
was  quite  a  satisfaction — a  little  ray  of  light  in 
the  very  dark  sky  that  gloomed  over  him — to  be 
able  thus  to  vindicate  so  triumphantly,  particu- 
larly to  his  brother-in-law,  the  correctness  of  his 
judgment. 

"I  remember  your  saying  you  were  afraid 
she  would  leave  you,"  replied  Mr.  Warwick. 
"And  you  have  no  idea  why  she  left  —  have 
heard  nothing  from  her  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word — not  the  scrape  of  a  pen  !  " 
cried  Mrs.  Marks,  volubly.  "  All  her  things  are 
here  yet — two  trunks,  and  ever  so  many — " 

"  You  know  she  drew  a  thousand  dollars  in 
gold  from  me  on  Tuesday,"  Mr.  Marks  here  broke 
in,  with  an  animation  which  he  had  not  exhib- 
ited before,  since  the  first  suspicion  of  the  bank 
robbery  had  aawned  on  his  horrified  apprehen- 
sion. "  Well,  on  Friday,  when  she  was  going  off, 
she  borrowed  ten  dollars  from  Bessie  !  Think  of 
that — ten  dollars  !  Now,  I  say  that  there's  some- 
thing wrong  about  all  this — one  way  or  another — 
and  I  made  up  my  mind  that,  if  she  didn't  come 
back  at  the  time  she  said,  and  couldn't  give  a  satis- 
factory account  of  why  she  went — " 

"She  went  to  see  the  priest,  Richard — she 
said  so  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Marks,  who  was  still  some- 
what of  a  partisan  of  Katharine's. 

"  Yes,  she  said  so,"  answered  Mr.  Marks,  dry- 
ly. "  But  she  didn't  say  what  was  the  reason 
this  St.  John  —  you  remember  the  man  you 
warned  me  about,  Warwick,  when  you  met  him 
as  he  was  going  out  of  the  bank  that  day  ?  " 

Mr.  Warwick  nodded. 

"  Well,  there  is  some  connection — " 

Here  Mrs.  Marks's  eagerness  grew  quite  un- 
controllable, and  she  dashed  into  the  conversa- 
tion—taking the  floor  by  storm  from  her  more 
quiet  husband — and  proceeded  to  pour  out  the 
whole  story  of  St.  John's  visit  to  Katharine  im- 
mediately on  her  return  from  Annesdale :  Mrs. 
Gordon's  having  come  in  while  St.  John  was 
there  ;  what  Mrs.  Gordon  had  said ;  Katharine's 
hasty  departure ;  Morton  Annesley's  call ;  St. 
John's  call ;  Mrs.  Annesley's  call ;  St.  John's 
second  call,  and  the  manner  in  which  the  latter 
had  persisted  ever  since  in  persecuting  the 
whole  family,  in  the  effort  to  obtain  information 
of  Katharine's* whereabouts;  her  own  solemn 
conviction  that  Katharine  had  gone  away  to  get 
rid  of  St.  John,  and  that  she  would  never  come 
back  while  he  remained  in  Tallahoma;  and  Mr. 
Marks's  obstinate  resolution  not  to  receive  her 
again  into  his  family,  if  she  did  come  back 


TWO  AND   TWO  MAKE  FOUR. 


199 


Mr.  Warwick  listened  in  attentive  silence,  and 
had  finished  his  breakfast  before  the  narration 
was  concluded.  When  Mrs.  Marks  finally  stopped 
an  instant  to  take  breath,  he  turned  to  her  hus- 
band. '_•  •' 

"  Has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  Miss 
Tresham  might  have  been  detained  away  acci- 
dentally ?  " 

"  Never ! "  answered  Mr.  Marks,  emphatical- 
ly. "  It  only  occurs  to  me  that  there's  some- 
thing wrong.  I'm  sure  of  it;  and,  though  I 
don't  know  what  it  is,  I'll  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  Miss  Tresham.  I  told  Bessie  at  the  time 
that  it  was  a  risky  business  to  be  engaging  a 
governess  without  knowing  any  thing  about  her. 
I  have  no  idea  that  Miss  Tresham  will  ever  re- 
turn here ;  but,  if  she  walked  into  the  room  this 
minute,  she  should  not  stay  very  long.  I'm  done 
with  her." 

Mr.  Warwick  said  nothing.  He  did  not  have 
time  to  argue  the  question  just  then,  and,  in  fact, 
what  could  he  have  said  ?  Perfectly  ignorant  of 
Katharine's  motives,  or  the  reasons  which  she 
might  be  able  to  give  for  her  apparently  singular 
conduct,  he  thought  it  best  to  be  silent  as  to  his 
knowledge  of  her  present  place  of  sojourn.  He 
could  only  conjecture  that  Mrs.  Marks's  suspicion 
of  her  having  left  Tallahoma  to  avoid  St.  John 
was  correct,  and,  as  he  had  but  a  moderate 
opinion  of  Mrs.  Marks's  powers  of  reticence — 
or,  indeed,  of  the  capacity  of  people  in  general 
in  that  particular — he  judged  it  most  prudent  to 
leave  matters  as  they  were — at  least,  until  his 
return  from  the  journey  which  he  was  about  tak- 
ing. Unwilling  as  he  had  been  to  entertain  the 
suspicion  suggested  by  Mrs.  Gordon  concerning 
St.  John,  he  had  found  it  impossible  to  put  the 
idea  from  him,  notwithstanding  that  the  evidence 
of  Hugh  Ellis  as  to  the  appearance  of  the  bur- 
glars went  far  to  discredit  its  probability.  The 
correctness  of  Hugh's  observation  in  the  case 
of  one  of  the  two — which  Mr.  Warwick  consid- 
ered fully  corroborated  by  the  testimony  of  the 
little  Powell — entitled  his  statement  to  respect, 
and  a  little  staggered  the  intuitive  conviction, 
which  had  steadily  been  gaining  ground  in  Mr. 
Warwick's  mind,  that  Mrs.  Gordon  was  right. 
Yet  still,  that  conviction  was  only  staggered,  not 
done  away  with  ;  and,  though  he  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  follow  the  clew  which  he  had  obtained, 
and  which,  so  far  as  he  was  aware,  did  not  point 
to  St.  John  as  a  participant  in  the  outrage,  he 
was  exceedingly  anxious  that  the  man  should 
not  leave  Tallahoma  during  his  own  absence,  and 
anxious,  also,  that  he  should  continue  ignorant 


of  Katharine's  movements.  Therefore,  he  would 
not  risk  any  thing,  he  thought,  by  premature  can- 
dor. When  the  affair  of  the  robbery  was  off  his 
hands,  he  would  take  up  this  mystery  about  the 
governess,  and  see  if  he  could  not  unravel  it. 
So,  without  a  word  upon  the  subject,  he  rose,  and, 
after  a  few  more  encouraging  assurances  that  he 
would  "  bring  the  business "  (of  the  robbery) 
"all  straight,"  he  took  leave  of  the  Markses, 
senior  and  junior,  and,  entering  the  buggy, 
which  was  at  the  gate,  told  Cyrus  to  drive  to 
Mr.  Powell's  store. 

As  he  was  passing  the  hotel,  his  quick  eye 
caught  sight  of  St.  John  on  the  bench  that  ran 
along  the  wall  from  end  to  end  of  the  long 
piazza  (for  the  convenience  of  the  loungers  who 
there  did  congregate  at  all  times  and  seasons) 
engaged  in  what,  to  appearance,  was  the  busi- 
ness of  his  life — smoking.  He  sat  apart  from  a 
group  of  noisy  talkers,  but  near  enough  to  enjoy 
the  benefit  of  hearing  their  conversation. 

No  sooner  did  Mr.  Warwick  appear  in  sight, 
than  one  of  these  gentlemen  of  leisure,  a  brother 
lawyer,  started  up,  and  stepped  to  the  edge  of 
the  piazza  to  exchange  a  word  with  him  as  he 
passed. 

"  Warwick !  A  moment,  will  you,  War- 
wick ! "  cried  he.  "I  did  not  know  that  you 
were  back.  When  did  you  arrive  ?  " 

"  Yesterday  evening,"  answered  Mr.  War- 
wick,  as  he  stopped  and  shook  hands  cordially. 
"  But  I  am  off  again,  you  see." 

"  Ah  ?  "  said  the  other,  with  some  surprise. 
"  I  thought  you  would  have  gone  to  work  about 
the  robbery.  Don't  you  intend  to  hunt  down 
those  scoundrels  ?  " 

Mr.  Warwick  smiled.  "  You  know  my  faith 
in  the  old  saw,  '  Give  a  thief  rope  enough,  and 
he  is  sure  to  hang  himself.'  " 

Mr.  Ashe — the  legal  brother — smiled  also, 
and  very  significantly ;  though,  as  he  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  group  in  the  piazza,  nobody  but 
Mr.  Warwick  himself  perceived  the  smile,  or  the 
glance  that  accompanied  it.  He  knew  Mr.  War- 
wick's faith  in  the  said  proverb ;  but  he  knew 
also  that  Mr.  Warwick  invariably  took  the  pre- 
caution, in  cases  of  the  kind,  to  hold  the  end  of 
the  rope  in  his  own  hand — and  shrewdly  suspect- 
ed that  he  was  not  departing  from  his  usual  cus- 
tom on  the  present  occasion.  A  few  general 
remarks  followed  after  this — Mr.  Ashe  judicious- 
ly refraining  from  indiscreet  questions  —  and 
then  Mr.  Warwick,  pleading  haste,  went  on  his 
way.  But  he  had  taken  the  opportunity  during 
the  moment  in  which  he  was  stationary  almost 


200 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


directly  in  front  of  St.  John — for  he  had  not 
stopped  the  buggy  until  it  passed  a  few  feet  be- 
yond the  group  of  loungers — to  cast  one  or  two 
rapid,  apparently  careless,  but  in  reality  very 
keen  glances  at  that  personage.  Glances  which 
were  returned  with  interest — since,  on  more  than 
one  account,  the  lawyer  was  an  object  of  no 
common  regard  to  the  scheming  adventurer. 
This  was  the  man  who  had  spirited  away  Felix 
Gordon — this  the  man  who,  according  to  the 
unanimous  belief  of  his  townsmen,  "  would  soon 
ferret  out  the  bank  thieves."  St.  John  had  no 
particular,  or,  rather,  no  personal  knowledge  of 
Mr.  Warwick's  character ;  but  he  had  heard 
enough  about  it  in  the  discussions  concerning 
the  bank  robbery,  which  were  in  everybody's 
mouth,  to  excite  his  apprehension. 

"  Yet,"  thought  he,  moodily  watching  the 
smoke,  as  it  curled  away  from  his  lips,  "  what 
can  the  man  do  ?  "  And  then  he  went  over  in 
his  mind  all  the  precautions  against  detection 
which  his  comrade  had  so  elaborately  adopted  ; 
he  remembered  that  this  comrade  was  accom- 
plished in  the  art  of  deceiving  London  and  Pari- 
sian detectives ;  and  he  smiled  cynically  at  the 
idea  of  a  village-lawyer  in  "  this  d — d  backwoods 
country,"  being  able  to  outwit  such  an  adept  in 
his  profession.  For  himself,  he  had  'not  the 
slightest  uneasiness.  His  figure  had  been  so 
effectually  disguised  by  much  clothing  and  a 
heavy  blanket-overcoat,  that  nobody,  he  was  cer- 
tain, would  ever  imagine  that  the  tall,  slender, 
and  elegant  form,  so  familiar  now  to  Tallahoma 
eyes,  could  have  been  transformed  into  that  of 
Burglar  No.  2,  whose  portrait  passed  from  lip 
to  lip  as  "  short  and  square-built ;  just  about 
such  a  looking  man  as  Mr.  Shields." 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Warwick  drove  on  a  square 
or  two,  and  stopped  before  Mr.  Powell's  store. 

"  Is  your  father  in,  Jimmy  ?  "  he  said,  as  the 
boy  hurried  forward  to  meet  him. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Will  you  walk  into  the  counting- 
room  ?  " 

He  led  the  way  to  a  glass  door  at  the  farther 
extremity  of  the  store,  opened  it,  ushered  in  the 
lawyer,  and  closed  it  again — looking  regretfully, 
as  he  did  so,  at  the  curtnin  which  concealed  the 
interior  of  the  apartment  from  his  view.  He  had 
scarcely  returned  to  his  place  near  the  entrance 
of  the  store,  however,  before  the  folds  of  this 
curtain  were  pulled  aside,  and  he  saw  his  father's 
hand  beckoning  to  him.  All  elate,  he  bounded 
down  the  long  room,  and  disappeared  from  the 
gaze  of  the  wondering  clerks.  A  few  minutes 
afterward,  the  door  was  again  opened,  and  Mr. 


Warwick,  Mr.  Powell,  and  Jimmy,  all  issued  forth 
— the  face  of  the  latter  beaming  with  pleasure. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Powell," 
said  Mr.  Warwick,  as  they  walked  toward  the 
door.  "  I'll  take  good  care  of  Jimmy,  and  bring 
him  safe  back,  I  promise  you." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that,  Mr.  Warwick.  Always 
glad  to  accommodate  you  in  any  way,  sir ;  and 
particularly  glad  in  this  case — for  Marks's  sake 
as  well  as  your  own.  I  only  hope  Jimmy  may  be 
of  use  to  you." 

They  shook  hands,  and  Mr.  Warwick,  reenter- 
ing  his  buggy,  pursued  his  way  in  one  direction, 
while  Jimmy,  after  also  shaking  hands  with  his 
father,  and  receiving  a  few  parting  injunctions 
from  him,  walked  off  in  another. 

The  latter  went  home,  and,  as  Mr.  Warwick 
had  advised,  put  his  tooth-brush  and  a  change 
of  linen  into  a  pocket  of  his  overcoat,  and  then 
proceeded,  by  a  short  cut  through  the  woods,  to 
Morton  House.  So  correctly  had  Mr.  Warwick 
reckoned  the  time  which  his  own  and  the  boy's 
movements  would  require,  that,  just  as  he  drove 
out  of  the  Morton  domain,  Jimmy  emerged  from 
the  wood  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  and 
joined  him. 

"  I  give  you  credit  for  your  punctuality,"  he 
said,  with  a  smile.  "  Let  me  have  the  reins, 
Cyrus.  I  shall  be  back  in  a  day  or  two.  Good- 
by. — Up  with  you,  Jimmy — this  side." 

He  drove  off,  down  the  Saxford  road,  and  kept 
it  for  several  miles ;  then  he  took  a  fork  to  the 
left,  and,  after  pursuing  this  for  some  miles  far 
ther,  emerged  into  the  Chesselton  road. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

CHECKMATED. 

ON  Saturday  afternoon,  St.  John  took  his 
usual  sunset  stroll,  which  invariably  led  him 
past  the  Marks  residence,  into  the  country  tow- 
ard Morton  House.  He  was  in  good  spirits — }n 
high  spirits,  in  fact — for,  by  the  Chesselton  mail 
of  the  morning  before,  he  had  received  a  letter 
posted  at  the  stage-house  from  which  Gillespie 
had  taken  up  his  goggle-wearing  passenger  (a 
country  post-office,  as  well  as  stage-house),  ad- 
vising him  of  the  safety  thus  far  of  his  associate. 
Added  to  this,  he  was  under  the  impression  that 
Mr.  Warwick  had  "  gone  off  on  a  wrong  scent." 
Not  an  hour  had  elapsed  from  the  time  at  which 
that  gentleman  halted  for  a  moment  at  tne  hotel 
piazza  to  speak  to  his  friend  Mr.  Ashe,  before 


CHECKMATED. 


201 


ihe  group  of  loungers  were  discussing  the  fact  of 
his  having  taken  Jimmy  Powell  and  started  to 
Saxford.  Everybody  had  heard  Hugh  Ellis's  ac- 
count of  the  man  who  was  at  the  bank  with  the 
ragged  note,  and  was  aware  that  Jimmy  Powell 
believed  he  had  seen  the  same  man,  on  the  same 
day,  in  his  father's  store;  it  was  known  that  Mr. 
Warwick  had  been  at  the  stage-office,  making  the 
most  minutely  particular  inquiries  ;  and  some- 
body had  met  Mr.  Warwick  with  Jimmy  Powell 
in  his  buggy,  travelling  toward  Saxford.  With 
such  circumstantial  evidence,  the  inference  was 
clear,  thought  the  gossiping  loungers  and  their 
interested  auditor  —  Mr.  Warwick  had  gone  to 
Saxford  in  pursuit  of  the  burglars,  and  had 
taken  the  boy  along  to  identify  the  one  he  had 
seen.  And  while  Mr.  Warwick's  admiring 
townsfolk  exulted  in  anticipation  at  the  suc- 
cess which  they  were  sure  awaited  him, 
St.  John  smiled  to  himself  sarcastically,  and 
with  intense  satisfaction,  at  the  failure  which 
he  was  as  confident  the  lawyer  would  meet 
with. 

He  was  thinking  of  this  failure,  congratulat- 
ing his  confrere  in  crime  and  himself  on  the  ad- 
mirable conception  and  execution  of  their  daring 
exploit,  and  altogether  in  a  better  humor  with 
Fortune  than  he  had  been  for  many  a  day  before, 
when  a  curve  in  the  road  he  was  pursuing,  brought 
him  into  an  open  and  rather  elevated  space  of 
ground,  over  which  a  crimson  light  from  the 
blazing  western  sky  was  at  the  moment  stream- 
ing. St.  John  was  no  lover  of  Nature.  He  did 
not  turn  to  admire  the  magnificent  sunset ;  but 
having  just  emerged  from  between  two  walls  of 
lofty  and  dense  forest,  which  had  made  an  almost 
twilight  gloom  around  him,  he  was  surprised  to 
find  that  the  sun  was  not  yet  set,  and  he  paused 
an  instant  to  look  at  his  watch.  As  he  stood 
motionless,  his  figure  was  so  clearly  defined  in 
the  broad  light,  and  against  the  background  of 
sun-gilded  forest,  that  Mr.  Warwick,  who  was 
advancing  from  the  opposite  direction,  though  at 
east  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant  from  the  place 
where  he  stood,  recognized  the  slender  and  ele- 
gant form  at  once.  As  it  chanced  that  he  was 
just  approaching  the  gates  of  Morton  House,  he 
checked  his  horses. 

"  I  have  business  here  that  I  must  stop  to 
attend  to,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  you  can  drive 
on  to  town  alone,  Jimmy  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

"You  will  find  Cyrus  at  my  office.  Just 
hand  the  horses  over  to  him."  He  alighted,  and 
beld  out  his  hand  with  a  cordial  smile.  "  I  shall 


not  forget  the  service  jou  have  rendered  me, 
my  boy.  Good-evening." 

St.  John,  discovering  that  it  was  so  much  ear- 
lier than  he  had  thought,  walked  on,  with  his 
eyes  on  the  ground,  as  was  his  habit,  and  his 
thoughts  still  dwelling  upon  the  success  of  hia 
late  "  venture."  He  was  considering  whether  it 
would  not  be  safest  to  destroy  the  paper,  rather 
than  run  the  risk  of  detection  at  any  future  time 
in  attempting  to  pass  it.  This  question  had 
already  been  discussed  by  his  associate  and  him- 
self; for,  even  before  he  had  heard  of  the  pre- 
cautions taken  by  the  cashier  to  stop  the  notes, 
he  was  aware  of  the  danger  attending  the  illicit 
possession  of  bank-paper.  But  it  had  been  de- 
cided to  keep  it,  on  tlie  chance  of  being  able  to 
realize  at  least  a  part  of  it,  after  the  excitement 
about  the  robbery  had  blown  over.  He  had  in- 
tended to  insist  on  one  point — that  not  a  dollar 
of  it  should  be  used,  until  he  himself  was  safe 
out  of  the  country.  His  own  safety  once  assured, 
he  was  not  uncomfortably  solicitous  about  that 
of  the  man  whom  he  regarded  merely  as  a  tool 
forced  upon  him  by  Fate. 

Engrossed  in  meditations  so  interesting,  Mr. 
St.  John  gave  but  the  most  careless  glance  at  the 
buggy  he  met  and  passed.  He  had  left  behind 
him  the  sunny  knoll  which  had  betrayed  his  pres- 
ence to  Mr.  Warwick,  as  the  road  again  entered 
between  aisles  of  thick  forest  growth,  when  sud- 
denly he  lifted  his  eyes  with  a  sense  of  instinc- 
tive apprehension,  and  perceived  at  a  distance  of 
fifteen  or  twenty  yards  before  him  on  his  path, 
and  advancing  at  a  quick  pace  toward  him,  a 
man  he  instantly  recognized  as  the  lawyer  whom 
he  had  supposed  to  be  at  that  very  time  in  Sax- 
ford.  He  was  startled — so  much  startled,  that, 
for  once,  presence  of  mind  deserted  him.  He 
turned  and  began  to  retrace  his  way  to  the  vil- 
lage, hoping  thus  to  avoid  the  most  transient 
meeting  with  a  man  for  whom  he  had  felt,  from 
the  first  moment  he  ever  saw  him,  a  sense  of 
unequivocal  distrust  —  a  distrust  amounting  to 
positive  fear  under  present  circumstances.  After 
a  moment  or  two,  he  felt  somewhat  reassured 
from  his  first  panic.  What  pretext  could  the 
man  find  for  addressing  him  ?  So  thinking,  he 
walked  more  slowly,  and  endeavored  to  collect 
himself  to  meet  with  a  properly  supercilious 
wonder  any  salutation  which  the  lawyer  might 
make.  But  notwithstanding  his  resolution 
_his  heart  beat  quickly,  as  near  and  nearer  be- 
hind sounded  the  sharp,  firm  tread  that  was 
overtaking  him  rapidly.  Just  as  he  had  left 
the  forest  shade  once  more,  and  stood  in  the 


802 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


full  light  of  the  setting  sun,  a  voice  at  his  side 
said  : 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  St.  John." 

He  turned  with  an  air  of  affected  surprise, 
cast  a  single  glance  at  the  speaker,  responded 
coldly,  "  Good-evening,"  and  fell  back  a  pace, 
with  the  obvious  intention  of  letting  the  other 
pass  on.  But  Mr.  Warwick,  instead  of  taking 
the  hint,  stepped  a  little  forward,  and  faced  so 
as  to  impede  the  way. 

"  This  chance  meeting  has  saved  me  the  trou- 
ble of  hunting  you  up  in  Tallahoma,  Mr.  St. 
John,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  We  will  sit  down  on 
this  log,  if  you  please.  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you." 

The  tone,  the  manner,  above  all,  the  expres- 
sion of  those  piercing  blue  eyes,  struck  terror  to 
the  guilty  man's  soul.  He  quailed  for  an  instant ; 
but,  rallying  then  by  a  great  effort,  answered 
sneeringly : 

"  Really,  sir,  you  are  very  obliging.  But,  to 
the  best  of  my  recollection,  I  have  not  the  honor 
of  your  acquaintance.  You  probably  mistake  me 
for  some  other  person." 

He  would  have  moved  on,  but  the  tall  form 
of  the  lawyer  effectually  barred  the  way.  The 
only  possibility  of  escape  was  by  positive  flight ; 
and  reckless,  and  morally  degraded  as  St.  John 
was,  there  still  remained  with  him  one  at  least 
of  the  instincts  of  gentlemanhood — courage.  He 
could  not  fly  from  an  adversary :  on  the  contrary, 
the  very  sense  of  open  antagonism  gave  to  him  an 
unaffected  boldness  of  bearing  and  of  feeling, 
which  the  consciousness  of  crime  had  almost  par- 
alyzed the  moment  before.  He  met  Mr.  War- 
wick's eye  unflinchingly,  as  he  said  with  super- 
cilious hauteur: 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  insolence, 
sir?" 

Mr.  Warwick  smiled.  "  I  am  a  little  prema- 
ture, I  admit,  in  claiming  your  acquaintance,"  he 
said,  in  so  ordinary  a  tone  that  only  a  very  nice 
ear  could  have  detected  an  inflection  of  mockery 
in  it ;  "  but  I  have  a  little  document  to  present  to 
you,  which  will  correct  the  informality — a  letter 
of  introduction  from  your  friend  Mr.  Gilbert  Di- 
dier,  alias  Dr.  Joyner,  alias  Mr.  Johnson,  alias 
etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  ad  infinitum,  I  have  no  doubt." 

He  took  out  his  pocket-book  deliberately — 
though  he  kept  his  eye  on  St.  John — opened  it 
and  produced  a  small,  sealed  note,  which  he  ex- 
tended. 

St.  John  did  not  move  to  take  it.  His  sallow 
face  had  grown  actually  livid,  and  he  reeled  as  he 
itood.  almost  like  one  drunken.  Mr.  Warwick 


had  the  character  of  being  a  hard  man  ;  but,  as  he 
gazed  at  the  cowering  form  that  only  a  moment 
before  had  worn  so  brave  a  front,  an  expression 
very  much  like  that  of  compassion  passed  ovei 
his  face.  It  vanished,  however,  as  he  saw  the 
instinct  of  the  bravo  flash  into  the  eyes  of  the 
detected  criminal.  He  was  prepared  for  this; 
and,  as  St.  John  plunged  his  hand  into  his  bos- 
om, he  himself  threw  forward  his  right  hand,  and 
St.  John,  before  he  saw  the  weapon,  heard  the  click 
of  a  pistol  as  it  was  cocked. 

"  If  you  withdraw  your  hand,  I  fire,"  said  the 
lawyer,  in  a  tone  not  to  be  misunderstood.  "  You 
see  that,  in  every  sense,  you  are  in  my  power — 
in  my  power  absolutely.  If  you  wish  to  save 
your  life  and  your  reputation,  you  will  not  at- 
tempt useless  resistance,  but  will  follow  the 
example  of  your  associate  whom  I  yesterday  even- 
ing caused  to  be  arrested  and  lodged  in  Chessel- 
ton  Jail  for  the  late  robbery  of  the  bank  at  Tal- 
lahoma, and  who  has  confessed  his  guilt." 

lie  paused,  and,  with  his  pistol  still  covering 
St.  John's  person,  waited  for  an  answer — waited 
patiently  enough,  for  he  saw  that  a  terrible  strug- 
gle was  going  on  in  the  mind  of  the  miserable 
man,  and  he  believed  it  would  end  in  the  man- 
ner he  wished.  So  he  stood,  watchful  but  patient, 
as  the  thin  and  now  fearfully  pallid  face  worked 
with  a  convulsive  passion  frightful  to  behold. 
Suddenly  the  face  grew  calm,  settling  into  an  ex- 
pression of  half-sullen  despair,  of  half-fierce  de- 
fiance. 

"  What  are  your  proofs  ngainst  me  ? "  he 
asked,  with  a  directness  which  elicited  Mr.  War- 
wick's respect  for  his  discretion  in  thus  coming 
at  once  to  an  understanding  of  his  position. 

"  Your  promissory  note  in  your  own  name  to 
Didier,  'for  one-half  the  specie  secured  in  your 
late  enterprise  on  the  bank  at  Tallahoma ' — I 
quote,  you  perceive,  the  wording  of  the  note  it- 
self— with  an  acknowledgment  that  the  whole 
amount  of  money  stolen  is  in  your  possession, 
and  that  the  paper  shall  be  disposed  of  as  here- 
after agreed  between  Didier  and  yourself,"  was 
the  reply,  in  a  perfectly  dispassionate  and  busi- 
ness-like tone. 

St.  John  gnashed  his  teeth. 

"  Also,"  continued  Mr.  Warwick,  in  the  same 
tone,  "  a  letter  of  date  of  Thursday  morning 
last,  purporting  to  be  from  James  Smith  to 
Thomas  Johnson,  advising  the  latter  that  '  busi- 
ness goes  on  prosperously,'  and  so  forth.  The 
writing  of  this  letter  (though  some  attempt  at 
disguising  the  hand  was  made),  and  the  paper 
upon  which  it  was  written,  would  be  recognised 


CHECKMATED. 


203 


by  a  court  of  law  as  identical  with  those  of  the 
promissory  note." 

"  The  vile  hound,  so  he  betrayed  me ! "  ex- 
claimed St.  John,  more  to  himself  than  to  Mr. 
Warwick. 

But  the  latter  answered  : 

"  Joyner,  or  Didier,  you  mean,  I  suppose  ? 
No ;  I  always  give  the  devil  his  due.  He  did  not 
betray  you.  I  don't  think  he  could  have  been 
induced  to  do  so.  I  obtained  the  evidence  I  hold 
very  much  against  his  will  by —  Read  his  note. 
That,  I  presume,  will  explain." 

Once  more  he  held  the  note  toward  St.  John, 
and  the  latter,  withdrawing  his  hand  from  his 
bosom,  this  time  condescended  to  take  it,  though 
with  an  air  of  disdain.  Tearing  it  hastily  open, 
he  read  as  follows : 

"  Don't  think  that  I  betrayed  you,  St.  John. 
I  did  not  even  make  the  slightest  admission  about 
myself  until  after  this  infernal  lawyer — curse 
him  !  Curse  his  whole  tribe,  for  they  are  the 
same  all  the  world  over,  from  Lincoln's  Inn  to 
this  damned  out-of-the-way  hole  that  I  am  caged 
in  !  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  did  not  make  the 
slightest  admission  about  myself,  much  less  about 
you,  until  after  all  was  up  by  his  discovery  of  the 
false  bottom  in  my  instrument-box  that  I  showed 
you.  I  had  stowed  your  note  and  letter  in  there 
for  safety.  I  had  hoped  that  you  would  escape 
with  the  money,  for  there  was  nothing  to  crimi- 
nate you,  or  even  to  suggest  a  suspicion  against 
you,  until  this  infernal  law-ferret  scented  out 
the  box,  and  got  possession  of  your  note,  and 
the  tools  that  are  my  letters  of  credit  and  open- 
sesame  into  banks  and  out  of  prisons.  After  that 
it  was  no  good  in  holding  out,  and  I  made  the 
best  terms  I  could  with  him  for  you  as  well  as 
myself.  Take  my  advice,  and  follow  my  example. 
You  will  get  off  easy  if  you  make  no  difficulty 
about  giving  up  the  money,  which  is  lost  to  us 
anyhow,  and  it  will  make  considerable  difference 
for  me.  Don't  get  into  one  of  your  devil's  hu- 
mors and  refuse  to  listen  to  reason.  You  see  he 
has  evidence  to  convict  you.  And  you  owe  it  to 
me  to  do  all  you  can  for  me,  as  I  would  have  done 
for  you  ;  for  I'll  be  d — d  if  any  thing  would  have 
induced  me  to  betray  you. 

"  Truly  yours, 

"GILBERT  DIDIER." 

"  Have  you  seen  this  ?  "  said  St.  John  to  the 
.awyer,  when  he  had  finished  reading  it. 
"  No." 
"  Is  what  he  saya  true  ?  " 


Mr.  Warwick  took  the  note,  which  the  other 
offered,  with  his  left  hand,  and  in  turn  ran  his 
eye  over  its  contents,  without,  however,  suspend- 
ing his  vigilance  as  to  St.  John's  movements. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,"  he  answered,  briefly. 

"  What  are  your  terms  ?  " 

"  I  will  spare  you  arrest  and  prosecution  for 
the  crime  you  have  committed,  and  will  keep 
your  secret — not  even  telling  it  to  my  brother- 
in-law — on  two  conditions :  first,  that  you  at 
once  give  up  the  whole  of  the  money ;  second!}', 
that  you  agree  to  leave  this  State  and  never  re- 
turn to  it.  If  you  refuse  these  conditions,  I  will 
arrest  you  on  the  spot.  You  look  as  if  you 
thought  that  would  not  be  easy  to  do  " — he  in- 
terrupted himself  to  say,  as  St.  John's  lip  curled 
into  a  sneering  smile — "  but  you  are  mistaken. 
As  I  told  you  a  minute  ago,  you  are  in  my  power 
absolutely.  The  first  movement  that  you  make 
to  possess  yourself  of  the  pistol  that  you  have 
in  your  bosom,  I  will  disable  you.  I  don't  intend 
to  kill  you,  but  I'll  wing  you  ;  both  side?,  if  neces- 
sary. I  am  the  more  powerful  man  of  the  two, 
and  could  then  deal  with  you  easily  myself.  But 
I  need  not  be  at  that  trouble.  I  have  only  to 
raise  my  voice  and  shout  for  assistance,  to  be 
heard  by  some  of  the  Morton  negroes.  The 
quarters  are  just  round  the  point  of  that  wood, 
and  the  hands  are  in  from  work  by  this  time. 
They  know  me,  and  will  dbey  any  orders  I  give 
them." 

St.  John's  eyes  sank  to  the  ground,  and  he 
gnawed  his  lip  sullenly,  without  speaking. 

Mr.  Warwick,  after  a  minute's  silence,  re- 
sumed : 

"  Decide  at  once  whether  you  accept  my  con- 
ditions. I  am  in  a  hurry." 

"  What  terms  do  you  offer  as  regards  Di- 
dier ?  " 

"  I  have  not  made  public  the  evidence  that  I 
hold  against  him.  He  was  arrested  at  my  in- 
stance, oit  suspicion  of  having  been  connected 
with  the  burglary.  I  need  not  say  that  my  evi- 
dence is  sufficient  to  convict  you  both.  He  was 
aware  of  this,  or  he  would  not  have  made  the 
admissions  which  he  did  to  me  privately — for  he 
is  a  bold  scoundrel.  I  must  do  him  that  justice. 
On  the  restoration  of  the  money,  I  will  withdraw 
my  accusation  against  him,  and  he  shall  be  re- 
leased, on  condition  that  he,  too,  leaves  the  coun- 
try. I  shall  retain  the  proofs  against  both  of 
you  that  I  possess,  and,  if  either  breaks  the  con- 
dition I  impose  by  coming  back  into  the  State, 
he  will  be  coming  to  immediate  arrest  and  prose- 
cution." 


204 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"Your  conditions  won't  do.  I  must  have 
some  of  the  money." 

"Not  a  stiver!" 

"  You  may  whistle  for  it  yourself,  then.  My 
arrest  and  conviction  will  not  help  you  to  a 
knowledge  of  where  it  is.  Allow  me  five  thou- 
sand dollars  —  the  reward  which  that  fellow 
Marks  has  offered  for  its  recovery — two  thou- 
sand five  hundred  apiece  to  Didier  and  myself, 
and  I  will  produce  it.  Otherwise — do  your 
worst !  I  shall  at  least  have  the  gratification  of 
baffling  you,  and  ruining  your  insolent  brother- 
in-law." 

"  You  are  not  as  clever  as  you  think  your- 
self, Mr.  St.  John,"  said  Warwick,  dryly.  "  You 
forget  that  your  accomplice  knows  where  the 
money  is  concealed.  To  give  you  a  chance, 
he  refused  to  treat  with  me  himself  on  the 
subject.  But  I  leave  you  to  judge  whether 
he  is  likely  to  persist  in  his  silence  when  he 
learns  that  you  threw  away  the  chance  thus 
afforded  you,  and  as  his  own  safety  depends 
upon  the  restitution  of  the  money.  I  give 
you  terms  much  more  favorable  than  you  have 
any  right  to  expect,  because  it  will  be  less 
troublesome  to  me  to  receive  the  money  im- 
mediately, and  let  you  go,  than  to  arrest  and 
imprison  you,  and  then  make  another  jour- 
ney to  Chesselton  to  bring  Didier  up  here. 
Once  for  all,  do  you  take  my  conditions  or 
not?" 

There  was  a  pause,  a  struggle — a  bitter  strug- 
gle in  St.  John's  mind,  before  he  answered,  sul- 
lenly— 

"  Yes." 

"  Produce  the  money.  I  am  aware  that  it  is 
secreted  in  the  woods  somewhere  hereabout.  De- 
liver it  to  me  at  once." 

Without  a  word  the  defeated  man  turned  and 
walked  toward  the  great  iron  gates  that  gave  en- 
trance to  Morton  House,  his  companion  keeping 
beside  him.  The  sun  had  set  very  shortly  after 
the  foregoing  conversation  commenced,  and  it 
was  now  deep  dusk  on  the  lonely  road  which 
they  traversed  ;  but  when  they  entered  the  gates 
of  Morton — they  did  enter,  St.  John  leading  the 
way  still  silently — there  was  something  of  twi- 
light yet  lingering  in  the  more  open  path  that 
they  pursued ;  and  the  full  moon  was  just  rising 
grandly  brilliant  in  the  clear  eastern  heaven.  St. 
John,  after  keeping  the  path  for  a  short  distance, 
plunged  into  the  thickest  of  the  wood,  and  finally 
stopped  at  a  spot  well  chosen  for  the  purpose  to 
which  it  had  been  applied — a  sort  of  miniature 
•avine  that  was  shut  in  on  all  sides  by  a  thick 


undergrowth,  and  surrounded  by  tall  forest-trees. 
Halting  beside  the  huge  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  he 
stirred  among  the  dry  leaves  with  his  foot  for  an 
instant,  then,  stooping,  took  up  by  the  handle  a 
mattock  which  had  been  concealed  there.  Walk- 
ing a  few  steps  farther,  to  the  foot  of  the  tree, 
he  again  pushed  away  a  quantity  of  dry  leavea 
that  filled  a  hollow  caused  by  the  violent  up- 
tearing  from  the  earth  of  the  roots  of  this  for- 
est monarch,  which  had  been  blown  down  by  a 
hurricane,  and  proceeded  to  exhume  with  the 
mattock  the  treasure  that  he  was  forced  to  re- 
sign. 

Mr.  Warwick  watched  the  work  in  silence ; 
but  when  St.  John,  after  removing  the  shallow 
layer  of  earth  that  had  covered  a  pair  of  small 
leather  saddle-bags,  hauled  it  out  with  the  mat- 
tock and  pushed  it  with  a  heavy  thump  toward 
him,  he  said :  "  Is  the  money  all  here  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  well.  Keep  your  part  of  the  agree- 
ment and  I  shall  keep  mine." 

He  picked  up  the  saddle-bags,  and  they  left 
the  spot  as  silently  as  they  had  sought  it ;  and  it 
was  not  until  they  had  regained  the  open  path 
again  that  another  word  was  spoken.  Then  Mr 
Warwick  paused  and  said : 

"  Our  paths  separate  here.  I  have  been  trav. 
elling  and  am  tired — and  this  is  rather  a  heavy 
weight  to  carry  from  here  to  Tallahoma.  I  will 
cross  the  wood  to  Morton  House,  and  borrow 
Mrs.  Gordon's  carriage  to  take  me  to  town. 
Good-evening." 

St.  John  deigned  no  reply.  He  waited  tc 
hear  the  conclusion  of  Mr.  Warwick's  speech — 
then,  without  a  syllable,  without  even  a  glance, 
he  turned  and  walked  rapidly  toward  the  gates. 

Some  short  time  afterward,  to  Mr?.  Gordon's 
surprise,  Harrison  ushered  Mr.  Warwick  into  her 
sitting-room.  He  carried  on  his  arm  the  leather 
saddle-bags,  and,  declining  the  servant's  proposal 
to  relieve  him  of  it,  deposited  it  himself  on  a 
side-table  before  accepting  Mrs.  Gordon's  invita 
tion  to  join  her  at  her  tea,  which  she  was  jus* 
taking. 

"  You  do  not  drink  tea,"  she  said. — "  Coffee, 
Harrison,  and  something  a  little  more  substan- 
tial than  this."  She  pointed  to  the  table. 

While  Harrison  went  to  execute  this  order, 
the  lawyer  tolfl.  his  story,  and  preferred  his 
request  for  the  carriage. 

"  I  tell  this  to  you  only,"  he  said,  after  she 
had  congratulated  him  cordially  on  the  recovery 
of  the  money.  "  Having  received  the  first  hint 
of  the  man's  guilt  from  you,  I  do  not  consider  it 


CHECKMATED. 


205 


a  breach  of  my  promise  to  tell  you  that  your  sus- 
picion was  just." 

Harrison  returned,  here,  with  a  reenforcement 
of  edibles  that  quite  transformed  the  appearance 
of  Mrs.  Gordon's  tea-table ;  and,  after  taking  his 
Bupper  with  the  appetite  of  a  man  who  has  been 
travelling,  and  is  in  excellent  spirits,  Mr.  War- 
wick said  good-evening  to  his  friend  and  hostess, 
and  once  more  preferring  to  carry  his  saddle- 
bags himself  (a  little  to  the  scandal  of  Harrison, 
who  was  old-fashioned  in  his  ideas  of  the  pro- 
prieties), he  entered  the  carriage  which  was  in 
readiness,  and  was  soon  set  down  at  the  garden- 
gate  of  the  Marks  residence. 

Passing  up  the  walk  and  through  the  piazza, 
he  entered  the  dining-room,  and  found  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Marks  its  sole  occupants — the  children  hav- 
ing been  sent  off  to  bed  when  the  tea-table  was 
removed,  an  hour  before.  He  paused  on  the 
threshold  of  the  door,  and,  himself  unperceived, 
regarded  for  an  instant,  with  a  smile  of  dry 
humor,  the  disconsolate-looking  pair.  Mr.  Marks, 
solemn-visaged  and  pale,  sat  gazing  with  a  dull 
stare  into  the  fire;  while  his  wife,  her  usually 
busy  hands  folded  in  pathetic  idleness,  was  look- 
ing sorrowfully  at  him. 

"  Well,  Marks,  I  have  brought  you  back  part 
of  your  money,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  advancing 
into  the  room.  "  Just  draw  that  little  table  for- 
ward, and  we  will  count  it,  and  see  how  much  is 
missing." 

Mr.  Marks  sat  motionless,  so  startled  and 
astonished  was  he  by  this  unexpected  appear- 
ance and  address  of  his  brother-in-law.  He 
looked  from  Mr.  Warwick's  face  to  the  saddle- 
bags on  his  arm,  and  back  again,  in  dumb  in- 
credulity of  the  possibility  of  such  good  fortune ; 
until  the  latter,  growing  tired  of  the  weight,  de- 
posited it  upon  the  knees  of  the  stupefied  cashier, 
while  he  himself  fetched  the  table  he  had  asked 
for,  transferred  to  it  a  candle  from  the  mantel- 
piece, lifted  the  saddle-bags  again  and  set  them 
down  with  a  sounding  thud  beside  the  candle, 
drew  a  chair  to  the  table,  and  sat  down.  Then, 
as  he  proceeded  methodically  to  unbuckle  one 
of  the  bags,  life  flashed  back  through  Mr. 
Marks's  stagnant  veins,  and  he  drew  his  chair 
forward  with  feverish  eagerness — impatient  of  the 
slowness,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  with  which  Mr. 
Warwick's  long  white  fingers  did  their  work. 
One,  two,  three  straps ;  and  the  buckles  were 
new  and  stiff,  hard  to  open.  But  the  flap  was 
lifted  at  last,  and  Mr.  Warwick's  hand  brought 
forth  bag  after  bag,  and  ranged  them  before  the 
hungry  eyes  that  looked  on.  When  he  had  cmp- 
14 


tied  both  bags,  he  began  telling  over  their  con- 
tents. Twenty-four  canvas  bags — the  mint  mark, 
"  $1,000,"  bright  and  black  on  each — seals  un- 
broken (with  the  exception  of  one,  a  little  larger 
than  the  rest,  which  had  been  opened  and  was 
now  tied  at  its  mouth  with  a  piece  of  red  tape), 
and  two  packages  of  bank-notes.  These  Mr. 
Warwick  examined  first.  He  patiently  counted 
the  smallest  package — the  notes  that  had  been 
in  circulation.  "  Thirteen  hundred  and  twenty- 
seven  dollars,"  he  said,  as  he  put  down  the  last 
bilL  "  That  was  the  amount,  was  it  not  ?  " 

"  That  was  the  amount,"  answered  Mr.  Marks, 
recovering  speech. 

"  Now  let  us  see  whether  this  is  right  too," 
said  the  lawyer,  unwrapping  a  newspaper  that 
was  folded  loosely  around  the  larger  pack- 
age. 

"  All  right !  "  cried  the  cashier,  eagerly,  as  he 
saw  that  here  too  the  seals  were  intact.  "  Good 
God !  I  never  thought  to  see  any  of  it  again, 
and  here  it  is  just  as  I  saw  it  last!  This  bag" 
— he  took  up  the  one  that  was  tied — "  has  eighty 
dollars  over  the  amount  in  the  others.  It  was 
part  of  what  I  was  to  keep,  and  I  put  the  eighty 
dollars  in — " 

"  John,  how  did  you  get  it  back  ! "  excterryed 
Mrs.  Marks,  who  had  been  literally  inarticulate 
with  joy  up  to  this  moment.  "  Oh,  my  dear, 
dear  John,  how  did  you  get  it  back  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  about  that,  Bessie,"  he  an- 
swered, smiling.  "  All  I  can  tell  you  is  that  I 
tracked  down  one  of  the  burglars  and  made  him 
disgorge." 

"  You've  got  him  safe,  I  hope,  for  punish- 
ment ?  "  said  Mr.  Marks. 

"  No.  I  could  not  secure  the  thief  and  the 
money  both — so  I  preferred  of  the  two  to  take 
the  money,"  answered  he,  rising  and  standing 
on  the  hearth-rug  with  his  back  to  the  fire. 

"  But  John—" 

"  If  you  ask  me  any  more  questions,  Bessie, 
I'll  make  Marks  pay  me  the  five  thousand  dol- 
lars reward  that  he  offered  for  the  recovery  of 
the  money,"  interrupted  her  brother,  with  hia 
slight  and  rare  laugh. 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean,  John,  that  you're  not 
going  to  tell  us  any  thing  more  than  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Bessie,  I  mean  just  that.  I  have  con- 
jured back  the  money — there  it  is ! — and  that 
must  satisfy  you." 

"  It  satisfies  me  ! "  cried  Mr.  Marks,  speak- 
ing like  himself  once  more.  "  John,  I  don't 
know  how  to  thank  you!"  He  started  up  and 
began  shaking  Mr.  Warwick's  hand  so  hard  that 


200 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


the  latter  could  not  restrain  a  slight  grimace  of 
pain. 

"  Don't  try,"  he  said,  as  he  managed  to  with- 
draw the  suffering  member  from  that  merciless 
grasp.  "  Where  are  the  children  ?  Not  gone  to 
bed  already,  surely  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  are  gone  to  bed.  It's  not  very 
early,"  answered  Mrs.  Marks,  apologetically. 
"Why,  what  am  I  thinking  of!  —  don't  you 
want  some  supper,  John  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  no — I  have  had  supper.  Have 
you  heard  any  thing  from  or  of  Miss  Tresham 
yet?" 

"  Not  a  word.  And  never  shall,  I  expect." 
She  sighed. 

"  There  you  are  mistaken.  I  can  give  you 
some  news  of  her." 

"Toucan!" 

"  Yes."  And  he  proceeded  to  describe  his 
having  found  her  in  Hartsburg  the  week  before, 
and  all  that  had  followed.  The  Markses  were 
amazed,  and  even  a  little  sympathetic  so  far  as 
the  brain-fever  was  concerned ;  but  Mr.  Marks 
remained  firm  in  his  resolution  of  having  noth- 
ing more  to  do  with  her.  "  I  liked  her  very 
much,"  he  said,  "  and  all  may  be  right  so  far 
as  she  herself  is  concerned  ;  but  I'm  convinced 
there's  something  wrong  about  this  Mr.  St. 
John,  and  there  certainly  is  some  connection 
between  the  two;  so  I  think  it  safest  to  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  Miss  Tresham.  I've 
made  up  my  mind  to  it,  and  I  hope  you  won't 
try  to  change  my  resolution,  John — " 

"  Certainly  not,"  interrupted  Mr.  Warwick, 
a  little  coldly.  "If  you  have  made  up  your 
mind,  that  settles  the  matter.  All  I  have  to 
say  is,  that  you  are  acting  very  hastily  and  very 
foolishly,  in  my  opinion.  I  wonder  if  Tom  has 
gone  to  bed,  as  well  as  the  children  ?  " 

"  Do  you  want  him  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  should  like  to  send  word  to  Hugh 
Ellis  that  the  money  is  safe." 

"  You're  right !  "  cried  Mr.  Marks,  with  ani- 
mation. "  Poor  Hugh  !  I'll  go  and  send  at  once, 
and  relieve  his  mind." 

The  message  certainly  relieved  Hugh's  mind, 
but  it  put  his  curiosity  on  the  rack  ;  and  great 
was  his  disappointment  the  next  morning  when 
he  learned  that  this  curiosity  was  not  to  be  grati- 
fied by  any  more  satisfactory  information  than 
that  very  meagre  account  which  the  Markses  had 
already  heard.  Nor  was  he  alone  in  his  disap- 
pointment  at  Mr.  Warwick's  reticence.  All  La- 
grange  felt  defrauded  and  indignant ;  and  St. 
John,  as  he  sat  next  morning  for  the  last  time 


in  the  hotel  piazza  (he  left  in  the  Saxford  coach 
at  noon  that  day),  listening  to  the  gossip  of  tlie 
loungers,  had  the  satisfaction — if  in  his  existing 
frame  of  mind  any  thing  could  be  a  satisfaction 
to  him — of  hearing  Mr.  Warwick's  obstinate  re- 
fusal  to  give  any  explanation  of  how  he  recov- 
ered the  money,  commented  upon  and  censured 
in  the  strongest  terms. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

TO    WIN     OR     LOSE     IT    AH. 

FEBRUARY  came  with  a  burst  of  tender,  spring, 
like  beauty  that  seemed  to  take  the  world  by 
storm.  Far  away  on  the  hills  and  over  the  woods, 
the  soft,  purple  mist  of  the  spring-time — that 
mist  to  the  careless  eye  so  like,  and  to  the  ob- 
servant eye  so  essentially  unlike,  the  blue,  melan- 
choly haze  of  the  Indian  summer — rested  like  a 
promise  of  coming  beauty  and  budding  vegeta- 
tion, hung  like  a  veil  of  enchantment  over  each 
distant  scene,  rounding  every  outline,  softening 
every  rugged  shape,  clothing  all  things  with  a 
loveliness  that  charmed  the  senses  like  a  draught 
of  fairy  elixir ;  if,  indeed,  we  do  not  dishonor 
Nature  by  such  comparisons,  for  what  fairy  elixir 
could  be  half  as  full  of  the  delicious  power  to 
charm  as  lier  least  gleam  of  sunshine,  her  palest 
sunset,  the  least  flicker  of  her  shadow  upon  a 
velvet  turf?  Sometimes  February  comes  with 
dun  skies  and  dropping  tears,  and  sad  robes  trail- 
ing over  the  cold-brown  earth  ;  but  then  again — 
and  this  more  frequently — she  comes  in  the  win- 
some guise  of  which  we  have  spoken,  crowned 
with  flowers — who  does  not  love  them  better 
even  than  the  royal  roses  of  May  ? — and  followed 
by  a  train  of  joyous  birds  that  seem  to  fill  the  air 
with  their  happy  twitter  and  full-throated  song. 
"  Singing,  perhaps,  does  not  so  much  make  them 
happy,  as  it  saves  their  little  hearts  from  burst- 
ing because  they  are  so  full  of  happiness,"  says 
one  of  the  sweetest  and  most  tender  of  writers ; 
and  sometimes  we  think  this  must  be  so.  Some- 
times we  feel  as  if  they  utter  our  happiness,  as 
well  as  their  own,  our  thanks  to  God  for  the 
bounteous  gift  of  all  this  His  fair  and  glorious 
creation. 

It  seemed  s%  at  least  to  Katharine,  as  she  felt 
the  world  waking  to  new  life  all  around  her — 
felt  it  as  she  felt  the  health  that  was  coming  like 
new  wine  into  her  veins,  and  flushing  her  cheek. 
She  was  by  this  time  domesticated  at  Bellcfont, 
and  every  thing  was  very  pleasant  around  her 


TO   WIN   OR   LOSE   IT   ALL. 


207 


Luxurious  appointments,  plentiful  attendance, 
kind  faces,  cordial  tones,  smiles  that  seem  only 
the  faint  reflections  of  warm  hearts- -who  has 
not  been  cheered  by  such  a  haven  once  or 
twice  in  life,  at  least  ?  Who  has  not  gone  forth 
warmed,  invigorated*grateful  for  what  has  been, 
and  courageous  to  meet  what  may  be  ?  Just 
now  it  was  the  time  of  rest  with  Katharine.  The 
first  period  of  convalescence  was  past,  and  she 
was  well  enough  to  make  one  of  the  family  cir- 
cle into  which  she  had  entered ;  yet  the  habits 
of  illness  still  clung  to  her,  and  the  task  of 
getting  well  was  as  yet  far  from  complete.  Re- 
pose was  still  a  necessity ;  and  this  repose  the 
Lesters  took  especial  care  to  secure  for  her. 
•Chough  the  house  was  thronged  with  company 
half  the  time,  Katharine  found  that  every  thing 
had  been  arranged  so  that  she  could  see  as  much 
or  as  little  of  it  as  she  chose ;  and  when  she 
chose  to  see  exceedingly  little,  nobody  found 
fault  or  was  offended.  Mrs.  Lester,  a  quiet, 
motherly  old  lady  who  wore  black-silk  aprons, 
and  carried  a  huge  basket  of  keys,  sympathized 
with  the  young  stranger,  and'  spent  much  time  in 
concocting  delicate,  dainty  dishes  with  which  to 
tempt  her  appetite;  Colonel  Lester  made  her 
welcome  in  very  pleasant  and  hearty  fashion, 
and  promised  her  exercise  on  a  "  splendid " 
riding-horse  that  would  bring  back  her  roses  as 
Boon  as  she  was  able  to  sit  in  the  saddle ;  Miss 
Lester  was  charmingly  kind,  and  kept  her  dozen 
or  so  of  boisterous  cousins  to  herself  as  much  as 
possible;  Miss  Vernon  Katharine  liked  better 
every  day ;  Spitfire  condescended  to  remember 
that  he  had  formerly  made  her  acquaintance,  and 
to  greet  her  with  tolerable  amiability ;  and  the 
redoubtable  Bulger  (whose  teeth  in  themselves 
were  enough  to  terrify  a  nervous  person  into 
hysterics),  suavely  permitted  her  to  pat  his  head, 
when  he  was  triumphantly  marched  in  for  inspec- 
tion by  his  doting  mistress.  Even  the  maid  who 
was  detailed  for  her  special  service  had  a  bright, 
pleasant  face  ;  and  any  one  who  has  ever  suffered 
from  a  sour,  sullen,  or  unwilling  servant,  will 
need  no  assurance  that  this  was  a  very  far  from 
inconsiderable  item  in  the  general  sunshine. 

On  the  whole,  Katharine  felt  as  if  she  was 
in  a  sort  of  dream.  Tallahoma  ! — Mrs.  Marks ! 
— the  school-room  ! — St.  John  ! — Mrs.  Gordon  ! 
Wlat  had  become  of  them  all?  Which  was 
reul,  that  life  or  this  one  ?  What  had  befallen 
all  those  people  since  she  parted  from  them  so 
long  ago?  What  chance  had  led  these  kind 
Samaritans  to  the  way-side  where  they  had  found 
her  ?  It  all  seemed  strange — nearly  as  strange 


as  when  she  first  waked  from  unconsciousness 
and  asked  those  bewildered  questions  which  no- 
body  would  answer — which  nobody  had  answered 
to  her  satisfaction  yet. 

One  evening,  a  few  days  after  her  arrival  at 
Bellefont,  she  was  down-stairs,  in  the  cosy  sit- 
ting-room where  the  family  assembled  when 
there  was  no  company,  where  Mrs.  Lester  pla- 
cidly knitted  in  one  corner,  where  Colonel  Les- 
ter read  the  papers,  and  occasionally  nodded  over 
them,  where  he  played  whist,  and  never  nodded 
over  that,  where  Miss  Lester  had  her  particular 
seat  by  the  fire  (the  same  seat  on  which  she  had 
nursed  her  doll  a  few  years  before),  from  which 
she  chattered  nonsense  unceasingly,  where  Spit- 
fire basked  luxuriously  on  the  hearth-rug,  and 
where  a  little  darkey  with  an  unnaturally  solemn 
face  and  an  unnaturally-clean  check  apron,  sat  in 
a  corner  by  the  fireplace  on  a  low  stool,  ready  to 
hold  Mrs.  Lester's  yarn,  to  bring  chips,  and  run 
errands  generally,  for  anybody  who  wanted  any 
thing.  It  was  a  pleasant,  home-like  scene,  Kath- 
arine thought,  as  she  sat  back  in  a  corner  (it  ia 
astonishing  how  many  corners  a  room  of  this 
description  can  manage  to  have),  and  watched 
and  listened,  herself  quiet  and  silent.  There  was 
a  piano  in  still  another  corner — somewhat  in  the 
shade — and  at  this  Miss  Vernon  was  singing  that 
softest  and  sweetest  of  Scotch  ballads,  "  The 
Land  o'  the  Leal."  The  clear  voice — which  had 
no  power  in  it  for  bravura  execution — sounded 
very  sweetly  in  the  touching  cadences  of  the 
tender  melody.  They  were  all  silent,  and  all 
listening  —  even  Colonel  Lester,  who  cared  no 
more  for  music  in  general  than  for  the  beating 
of  a  tin  pan — when  there  came  a  step  in  the 
hall.  "  Some  of  the  ubiquitous  cousins,"  thought 
Katharine,  with  a  sigh  of  regret ;  but  a  familiar 
voice  was  heard  saying,  "  Yes,  I  know  the  way," 
and  Godfrey  Seymour  entered  the  room.  The 
music  did  not  cease.  Miss  Vernon  only  nodded 
to  him  with  a  smile,  and  went  on  singing,  while 
he  made  the  tour  of  the  fire,  shaking  hands  with 
every  member  of  the  circle,  and  only  recognizing 
Katharine  when  he  came  to  her  last  of  all. 
"  Miss  Tresham  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  a 
pleasant  surprise  ! "  Then  he  greeted  her  warm- 
ly, and  sat  down  by  her  side.  Katharine  did 
not  feel  much  like  conversation,  but  it  never 
required  any  effort  to  talk  to  Seymour.  He  was 
so  frank,  so  simple,  so  free  from  all  effort  him- 
self, that,  unconsciously,  he  forced  others  to  be 
natural  also.  Miss  Tresham  was  startled  when 
at  last  she  glanced  at  the  clock  and  saw  how 
long  she  had  been  talking  to  him. 


208 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"  I  must  go,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  I  am  an 
invalid  still,  and  keep  invalid  hours.  You  will 
excuse  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  excuse  you,"  he  answered, 
"  especially  since  I  hope  to  see  you  very  soon 
again." 

He  went  with  her  to  the  door,  shook  hands 
when  he  said  good-night,  and  then,  in  turning 
back,  cast  a  quick  glance  round  the  room,  that 
took  in  the  occupation  of  every  one  of  its  in- 
mates. One  of  the  ubiquitous  cousins  had  ar- 
rived, and  was  entertaining  Miss  Lester,  Colonel 
Lester  was  nodding  over  a  newspaper,  Mrs.  Les- 
ter was  winding  some  yarn  which  Flibbertigibbet, 
(a  name  of  his  young  mistress's  bestowal),  held 
eolemnly  on  his  two  little  black  paws.  Miss  Ver- 
non  was  still  at  the  piano,  singing  softly  to  her- 
self. To  the  piano,  therefore,  Mr.  Seymour  took 
his  way. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  will  say  to  me,"  he 
began,  as  he  settled  himself  in  a  seat  by  the  key- 
board. "  I  have  broken  faith  with  everybody, 
and  told  Miss  Tresham  that  Morton  is  staying 
with  me." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Miss  Vernon,  stopping  in  the 
midst  of  her  song.  "  And  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  particular,"  he  answered, 
"  though  I  assure  you  I  was  frightened  enough 
when  I  found  I  had  let  out  the  secret.  I  had 
been  warned  so  solemnly  against  any  indiscre- 
tion of  the  kind,  that  I  fully  expected  her  to 
faint ;  but,  instead  of  that,  she  had  not  even  the 
grace  to  turn  pale." 

"  How  foolish  you  are ! "  said  the  young  lady, 
•railing.  "  Of  course,  nobody  ever  expected  her 
to  faint,  or  even  to  turn  pale.  In  fact,  there  is  no 
reason  why  she  should  not  be  told  about  him. 
You  know  it  was  by  the  doctor's  orders  that 
every  thing  has  been  kept  from  her  up  to  this 
time;  but  I  think  she  is  well  enough  now  to 
bear  something  a  little  more  exciting  than  dear 
Mrs.  Lester's  nice  soups  and  omelets." 

"  I  bring  a  message  from  Annesley,  anyway. 
The  poor  fellow  wants  to  know  when  he  can 
come  over.  I  was  charged  to  make  intercession 
for  him,  and  I  can  do  so  most  sincerely.  It  is 
amazingly  dull  for  him  over  at  our  place." 

"  That  is  a  slander  on  your  place  which  I 
won't  sanction.  Because  Mr.  Annesley  happens 
to  be  lovesick,  and  unable  to  find  any  pleasure  in 
any  thing  that  is  not  brightened  by  Miss  Tresh- 
am's  eyes  " — (then  with  some  contrition) — "  there 
goes  my  sharp  tongue  again !  I  wonder  if  I  never 
shall  cure  myself  of  saying  ill-natured  things  ? 
Honestly,  I  am  very  sorry  for  him,  and  it  was 


only  to-day  that  I  told  Maggie  that  she  ought  tc 
write  a  note  and  tell  him  he  might  come.  I  am 
very  glad  you  paved  the  way  by  speaking  of  him 
to  Miss  Tresham.  By-the-by,  this  reminds  mo 
that  Mrs.  Lester  has  received  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Warwick,  begging  her  to  keep  all  accounts  of  the 
T^llahoma  bank  robbery  from  Miss  Tresham,  and 
adding  that  he  will  be  down  here  eoon  to  take 
her  back  to  La  grange." 

"  He  seems  to  take  a  great  deal  of  interest  in 
Miss  Tresham.  I  hope  it  does  not  bode  ill  for 
Annesley." 

"  Nonsense !  I  should  as  soon  think  of  a 
volume  of  Blackstone  falling  in  love  as  Mr.  War- 
wick. Miss  Tresham  was  his  sister's  governess, 
and  he  has  been  very  kind  to  her — that's  all. 
Men  are  twice  as  fanciful  as  women  are  about 
such  things  as  this." 

"  Perhaps  because  we  know  each  other  bet- 
ter. Miss  Tresham  is  amazingly  pretty,"  he 
added,  candidly,  "  and  very  attractive,  very  sym- 
pathetic. I  should  not  mind  falling  in  love  with 
her  myself." 

"  Do  it,  then,  by  all  means.  Your  chance 
would  be  quite  as  good  as  Mr.  Annesley's,  I 
should  think." 

"  I  might,  perhaps,  if — no  man  can  serve  two 
masters,  you  know,  much  less  two  mistresses. 
Now,  I  found  mine  long  ago.  Fortunately,  or 
probably  unfortunately,  for  me,  I  could  not 
change  my  allegiance,  if  I  would." 

"  It  is  a  misfortune  to  be  too  constant,"  said 
Miss  Vernon ;  but  she  said  it  very  gently,  and 
then  changed  the  subject  abruptly.  "  And  Mr. 
Annesley  wants  to  make  an  appearance  on  the 
scene,  does  he  ?  " 

"  He  sent  me  over  specially  to  intercede  for 
him.  Not  that  I  needed  much  persuasion  tc 
induce  me  to  come,"  he  added,  with  a  slight 
grimace.  "  I  am  always  ready  enough  to  singe 
my  wings.  Tell  me  what  message  I  shall  take 
back  to  the  poor  fellow." 

"  We  must  go  and  ask  Mrs.  Lester  that.  I 
can't  venture  to  bid  him  come  merely  on  my  own 
responsibility." 

Mrs.  Lester  being  propitious,  it  was  finally 
decided  that  Mr.  Annesley  might  venture  to 
make  his  appearance  at  Bellefont  the  next 
morning ;  and,  with  this  comforting  news  for 
his  friend,  Mr.  Seymour  took  leave. 

The  next  morning  was  unspeakably  lovely. 
The  sky  had  not  a  cloud,  the  air  was  soft  and 
warm,  yet  full  of  buoyancy — so  full  of  buoyancj 
that  it  almost  seemed  as  if  it  were  possible  tc 
feel  the  buds  expanding,  the  flowers  opening,  and 


TO   WIN   OR   LOSE   IT  ALL. 


209 


the  grass  springing  all  around.  As  Miss  Vernon 
sauntered  back  and  forth  on  the  front  terrace, 
her  bright  beauty  looked  akin  to  the  bright  day. 
She  almost  dazzled  Seymour  and  Annesley  when 
they  came  riding  up,  and,  dismounting  from  their 
horses,  looked  up  and  saw  her  standing  at  the 
top  of  the  steps,  with  the  sunshine  pouring  over 
her  slender  figure,  her  fresh  morning-dress  sweep- 
ing the  gravel-walk,  and  a  knot  of  violets  fast- 
ened at  her  throat. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  greet- 
ing them  both  with  a  smile.  "  Is  not  the  day 
charming?  I  could  not  stay  in  the  house, 
though  there  are  half  a  dozen  people  there  who 
have  come  with  the  deliberate  intention  of 
spending  the  day — the  Roystons,  and  ever  so 
many  more.  Mr.  Seymour,  you  need  not  look 
so  much  alarmed.  You  can  stay  out  here  with 
me,  if  you  choose,  and  that  will  give  me  a  good 
excuse  for  not  going  back.  I  can  say  you  kept 
me." 

"  And  put  all  the  blame  on  my  shoulders," 
said  Godfrey,  laughing.  "  Well,  they  are  broad 
enough  to  bear  it,  and  I  accept  the  responsibil- 
ity with  pleasure.  We  will  certainly  stay.  It  is 
a  sin  to  go  iu-doors  such  a  day  as  this." 

"  But  how  about  me  ? "  asked  Annesley. 
44  Am  I  to  be  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Roys- 
ton  &  Co.,  or  am  I  to  be  allowed  to  remain  and 
enjoy  the  beauties  of  Nature  also  ?  " 

"  You  are  to  come  with  me  and  be  shown 
what  you  are  to  do,"  answered  Miss  Vernon. — 
"  Stay  here,  Mr.  Seymour,  if  you  please,  I  will 
be  back  in  a  minute. — This  way,  Mr.  Annesley." 

Somewhat  amused,  and  a  little  puzzled,  Mor- 
ton obeyed,  and  followed  the  young  autocrat 
around  the  terrace.  She  led  him  to  an  angle 
of  the  house,  and  quite  out  of  sight  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, before  she  paused.  Then  she  stopped, 
and  pointed  to  three  French  windows  that  opened 
on  the  terrace,  just  where  the  terrace  overlooked 
the  garden,  which  lay  to  the  south. 

"  Do  you  know  where  those  windows  lead, 
Mr.  Annesley,"  she  asked,  gravely. 

"  I  think  I  do,  Miss  Irene,"  answered  Mor- 
ton, with  equal  gravity.  "  They  lead  into  the 
sitting- room." 

"  Well,  if  you  choose  to  go  through  one  of 
them,  you  will  find  Miss  Tresham  in  the  sitting- 
room.  I  left  her  there  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  But  is  there  no  fear  of  startling  her  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,  I  assure  you.  She  knows  you 
are  expected,  and  I  don't  think  she  troubles  her- 
self to  be  the  least  bit  excited  about  it.  She 
said  she  should  be  glad  to  see  you — she  wanted 


to  hear  from  Lagrange.  Go  in,  by  all  means,  and 
give  her  the  news  from  Lagrange ;  only  remem- 
ber "  (and  her  voice  changed  from  bantering  to 
earnest)  "  that  you  must  not  mention  the  bank 
robbery.  For  some  cause,  Mr.  Warwick  has  pro- 
hibited it." 

"  You  may  depend  on  my  discretion,"  he 
said,  and  was  turning  away,  when  she  extended 
her  hand  and  touched  him. 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Annesley,"  she  said, 
smiling  and  blushing.  Many  a  long  day  after- 
ward the  scene  came  back  to  Morton ;  he  re- 
membered the  sweet  spring  sunshine,  the  slender 
white  hand  on  his  coat-sleeve,  the  beautiful  face 
bending  toward  him,  the  frank,  tender  eyes,  and 
the  delicious  fragrance  of  the  violets  fastened  at 
her  throat.  "  One  word,  Mr.  Annesley,"  she  said, 
hastily.  "  Don't  think  me  impertinent,  but  we 
are  old  friends,  and — may  I  wish  you  success  ?  " 

For  one  moment  Annesley  was  surprised ;  the 
next,  he  felt  deeply  touched.  The  few  words 
had  been  so  sweetly  and  so  gracefully  said  that 
the  veriest  churl  must  have  acknowledged  their 
charm.  It  was  fortunate  that  they  were  out  of 
sight  of  the  drawing-room  windows,  for,  follow- 
ing his  first  impulse,  he  bent  and  kissed  the 
hand. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Irene,"  he  said,  simply. 

Then,  before  she  could  answer,  he  was  walk- 
ing away  toward  the  French  windows. 

As  it  chanced,  Katharine  was  sitting  imme- 
diately in  front  of  one  of  these  windows,  leaning 
back  with  supreme  comfort  in  a  deep  arm-chair, 
enjoying  idly  all  the  fresh  beauty  of  the  scene 
before  her,  and  so  wrapped  in  the  dreamy  reve- 
rie which  such  weather  inspires,  and  which  does 
not  deserve  to  be  called  thought,  that  a  book  she 
had  been  attempting  to  read  had  dropped  from 
her  hand  to  her  lap,  and  lay  there  unheeded. 
She  hardly  started  when  a  crisp,  ringing  step — 
step  that  she  knew  well — sounded  on  the  gravel 
walk,  when  Morton  drew  aside  the  curtains  and 
looked  in  at  the  window,  thus  finding  himself 
face  to  face  with  the  woman  he  had  come  to 
seek. 

"  Miss  Tresham  I  How  happy  I  am  to  see 
you ! "  he  exclaimed,  making  one  long  step 
through  the  window  to  her  side.  "  How  happy 
I  am  to  see  you !  and  to  see  you  looking  so 
entirely  yourself ! " 

"  How  happy  I  am  to  be  well  enough  to  be 
seen  again ! "  she  answered,  letting  him  take 
both  her  hands  in  his  warm,  eager  clasp.  "  You 
are  very  good  to — to  look  so  glad,"  she  added, 
with  a  little  laugh.  "  Everybody  is  so  good  to 


210 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


me  1     You  have  heard  how  these  kind   people 
insisted  on  bringing  me  here  to  get  well  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  considerably  more  than  you 
have,  I  believe,"  said  he,  laughing  in  turn.  Then 
he  released  her  hands,  and,  stepping  back  a  lit- 
tle, looked  at  her. 

Her  illness  had  not  left  any  very  terrible 
traces.  That  was  his  first  thought.  The  worst 
was  certainly  the  loss  of  her  hair  ;  yet,  even  that 
did  not  disfigure  her  as  much  as  might  be  ima- 
gined. The  head  had  only  been  shaven  on  the 
top  of  the  scalp,  and  that  was  covered  by  a  light 
and  infinitely  becoming  cap  of  muslin  and  lace  ; 
elsewhere  the  brown  hair,  which  was  not  more 
than  an  inch  or  two  long,  had  an  inclination  to 
curl,  that  saved  it  from  the  horribly-ungraceful 
aspect  of  short  straight  hair.  Bound  the  fore- 
head it  lay  in  soft,  pretty  rings,  that  seemed  to 
suit  the  delicate  complexion,  which  had  an  exqui- 
site transparence,  that  is  often  seen  after  severe 
illness,  but  rarely  ever  at  any  other  time.  Even 
the  eyes  he  knew  so  well  had  caught,  Morton 
thought,  new  beauty  ;  they  were  so  full  of  dewy 
lustre,  as  they  looked  up,  dazzled  and  drooping  a 
little  from  the  sunshine !  Perhaps  this  dewy 
lustre  sprung  from  tears.  At  least,  there  was 
something  like  a  suggestion  of  tears  in  her  voice 
when  she  spoke. 

''  Everybody  is  so  good  to  me  !  "  she  repeat- 
ad,  with  much  feeling. 

"  How  could  anybody  help  being  good  to 
you  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  tone  that  carried  with  it 
an  unmistakable  accent  of  sincerity.  After  he 
said  it,  something  rose  in  his  throat  and  choked 
him  a  little.  With  that  face  before  him,  and  the 
golden  day  all  around,  a  sudden  remembrance 
came  of  the  night  when  this  bright  life  had 
seemed  passing  away  from  earth,  and  the  things 
of  earth,  into  that  realm  of  darkness  and  shadow 
which  to  him,  as  to  many  people,  the  night  served 
to  typify.  Was  it  real  ?  Was  it  she,  sitting  be- 
fore him  there  with  the  sweet,  flickering  smile — 
smile  half  akin  to  tears — on  her  lip  ?  Or  was 
that  other  only  a  dream — that  memory  of  past 
danger,  darkness,  and  distress  ?  He  found  it 
impossible  to  realize  them  both.  Yet,  he  looked 
at  her,  and  said  : 

"  You  don't  know  how  grateful  I  am  that  you 
are  gaining  health  and  strength  once  more." 

"  Can  you  imagine  how  grateful  I  am  ? " 
she  asked.  "  It  is  so  pleasant — no  words  can 
say  how  pleasant — to  feel  life  coming  back  with 
every  breath  one  draws  !  The  most  common  and 
trivial  things  of  existence  seem  to  have  new 
sweetness  and  value,  when  one  has  so  nearly 


lost  them.  This  day — no  doubt,  it  is  charm, 
ing  enough  to  you,  but  to  me  it  seems  like  para, 
dise  1  So  it  is  with  every  thing.  I  cannot  de- 
scribe the  sensations  that  beset  me;  or,  per- 
haps,  I  can  sum  them  up  in  one — I  am  so  glad 
to  get  well !  " 

"  And  glad  to  be  here,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Very  glad,  indeed,  though  everybody  waa 
most  kind  in  Hartsburg.  I  don't  understand 
matters  quite  yet,"  said  she,  looking  puzzled ; 
"  but  I  suppose  I  shall  after  a  while.  I  was  sur- 
prised to  hear  that  you  were  expected  to-day 
How  do  you  chance  to  be  down  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I — I  am  staying  with  Godfrey  Sey- 
mour," said  he,  smiling  a  little.  "  What  are 
you  reading  ?  " 

She  held  out  the  book.  It  was  a  volume  of 
the  "  Faerie  Queene." 

"  I  wanted  something  that  would  not  excite 
me,"  she  said;  "and  this  is  an  old  and  dear 
favorite,  that  has  gone  with  me  many  a  ramble. 
Perhaps  it  is  from  this  association  that  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  it  should  always  be  read  with  bright 
sunshine  and  beautiful  scenes  all  around.  I  am 
so  glad  to  see  you ! "  she  went  on,  with  an 
abrupt  change  of  subject,  as  Annesley  took  the 
volume  and  began  turning  over  the  leaves.  "  I 
want  to  ask  you  about  Lagrange.  I  feel  as  if 
the  world  might  have  come  to  an  end  while  I 
was  lying  sick  in  Hartsburg ;  so  I  really  have 
not  dared  to  write  to  anybody.  Tell  me  some- 
thing, please,  Mr.  Annesley." 

"  What  shall  I  tell  you  ?  "  asked  Mr.  An- 
nesley, becoming  much  interested  in  the  "  Faerie 
Queene." 

"  Any  thing,"  answered  she,  impatiently, 
"  Don't  look  that  way,  or  I  shall  think  there  is 
something  you  don't  want  me  to  know.  Mr. 
Annesley  " — growing  pale — "  tell  me,  please,  it 
there  any  thing  ?  " 

"  On  my  honor,  not  a  thing,"  answered  Mor- 
ton, hastily,  quite  startled  by  her  sudden  change 
of  color.  "  What  should  there  be  ?  and,  if  there 
were  any  thing,  why  should  I  not  tell  you  ?  I — 
I'll  go  aud  bring  Mrs.  Lester  to  you,  if  you  don't 
get  your  color  back,"  he  added,  becoming  more 
alarmed. 

"  No,  don't !  "  said  she,  holding  out  her  hand 
as  he  half  turned  to  go.  "Stop  ;  the  color  will 
come  back  in  a  rninute.  I  fancy  your  fright  is 
only  an  excuse  to  escape  from  my  questions," 
she  went  on,  smiling  faintly.  "  I  have  not  asked 
them  yet,  you  know.  Did  you  see  Mrs.  Marks 
before  you  left  Lagrange  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her,  and   she  was  quite  well. 


TO   WIN   OR   LOSE   IT   ALL. 


211 


Please  let  me  go  and  get  you  something — some 
water  or  wine." 

"  I  need  nothing  at  all ;  thank  you.  Did  Mrs. 
Marks  say  any  thing  to  you  with  regard  to  me  or 
my  absence  ?  " 

Poor  Morton  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  an 
evasive  answer,  found  none,  and  plunged  head- 
long at  a  reckless  truth. 

"  She  mentioned  you,  of  course,  and  ex- 
pressed great  concern  at  your  absence.  You — 
she — it  seems  you  did  not  tell  her  how  long  you 
meant  to  be  away  ?  " 

"  How  could  I,  when  I  had  no  idea  of  any 
thing  like  this  ?  It  is  like  a  dream,"  she  said. 
"  You  don't  know  how  strangely  vague  every 
thing  seems.  Almost  immediately  after  I  ar- 
rived in  Saxford,  things  waver  and  grow  dim  in 
my  recollection.  I  stayed  there  two  or  three 
days — longer,  perhaps — waiting  for  Father  Mar- 
tin. I  think,  in  fact  I  am  sure,  that  the  fever 
was  on  me  then.  My  remembrance  of  those 
days  is  of  continued,  dull,  heavy  pain,  and  burn- 
ing thirst.  If  I  had  been  myself,  of  course,  I 
should  have  gone  back  to  Tallahoma ;  but  I  was 
full  of  cowardice  and  terror — terror  of  a  person 
whom  I  did  not  like — and  I  had  no  control  over 
my  nerves.  Day  by  day  this  grew  worse,  until  it 
became  a  wild  desire  for  flight.  My  last  tangible 
recollection  is  of  making  up  my  mind  to  leave 
Saxford  and  going  to  sell  my  watch,  for  I  had 
brought  very  little  money  with  me.  After  that, 
every  thing  is  a  blank  till  I  waked  up  in  Harts- 
burg,  and  they  told  me  I  had  been  at  death's 
door.  I  don't  know  what  they  think  of  me  in 
Tallahoma.  It  has  been  six  weeks,  you  know, 
since  I  left  there — but  I  have  felt  a  quietness 
about  it  that  amazes  myself.  I  am  glad  to  come 
back  to  life;  but  it  seems  as  if  many  things 
that  troubled  me  before  have  dwindled  in  im- 
portance, have  less,  far  less  power  to  disturb  me 
than  they  formerly  had." 

"  Then  that  is  one  good  result,  at  least, 
arising  from  your  illness." 

She  looked  a  little  startled. 

"  Why,  is  there  any  thing  that  I  must 
hear  ?  " 

"  How  quick  you  are  to  suspect  what  has  no 
existence  !  There  is  nothing  at  all  that  I  know 
of  I  am  simply  glad  that  you  have  reached  an 
enviable  state  of  indifference  to  things  subluna- 
ry, which  are  more  often  disagreeable  than  pleas- 
ant." 

"  I  did  not  say  I  was  indifferent.  I  hope  I 
never  shall  be.  I  think  indifferent  people  have 
hardly  a  H«rht  to  live  in  a  world  that  is  full  of 


things  to  take  interest  in.  Never  mind  about 
that,  however.  Tell  me  how  many  days  it  has 
been  since  you  left  Lagrange." 

"  Days ! "  He  first  stared,  then  hesitated. 
"  It  has  been  a  month  since  I  left  home." 

"  Indeed  ! "  The  extreme  of  astonishment 
was  in  her  face  and  in  her  voice.  "  A  month  ! " 
she  repeated.  "  Then  you  must  have  been  else- 
where? You  cannot  have  been  here  all  that 
time?" 

"  If  by  here  you  mean  Apalatka,  I  am  obliged 
to  confess  that  I  have  been  here  all  the  time." 

"  But,  Mr.  Annesley — " 

"  Well,  Miss  Tresham  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she,  coloring.  "  1 
was  so  much  surprised  that  I  was  on  the  point 
of  being  very  uncivil.  I  was  about  to  ask  what 
you  had  been  doing  here." 

She  spoke  with  perfect  unconsciousness ;  but 
her  words  seemed  charged  with  meaning  to  Mor- 
ton. He  had  gone  in  search  of  her  with  one  fixed 
purpose  in  his  mind :  he  had  waited  to  see  her, 
steadily  resolved  to  accomplish  that  purpose  as 
soon  as  practicable;  and  now,  here  was  the  op- 
portunity to  do  it.  Morton  did  not  fear  his  fate 
very  much,  as  his  frank  assertion  to  Mr.  Warwick 
on  the  night  that  Katharine  lay,  as  they  thought, 
dying,  plainly  showed.  Poor  fellow !  He  had 
been  so  spoiled  and  humored,  so  praised  and 
taught  to  consider  himself  irresistible  all  his  life, 
that  the  wonder  was,  not  that  he  had  a  little  van- 
ity, but  that  he  had  half  so  much  honest  humil- 
ity. There  was  nothing  of  offensive  puppyism — 
in  fact,  there  was  nothing  of  puppyism  at  all — 
in  his  belief  that  Miss  Tresham  would  accept 
him.  He  wondered  at  it  himself,  and,  despite 
his  apparent  grounds  for  confidence,  could  not 
help  doubling  it  a  little.  He  even  flushed  sud- 
denly at  her  last  words,  more  like  a  boy  than 
like  a  man  of  the  world ;  then  looked  straight 
at  her  with  his  clear  eyes. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  been  doing 
here,"  he  said.  "  I  have  been  waiting  to  see 
you.'1'1 

"  To  see  me ! "  repeated  Katharine.  She  was 
stupid  just  then,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  her  what 
he  meant.  On  the  contrary,  her  head  was  so  full 
of  Tallahoma,  and  St.  John,  and  Mrs.  Gordon, 
that  she  turned  pale  again,  and  gave  a  low,  trem- 
bling cry.  "  I  knew  it,"  she  said.  "  You  have 
something  to  tell  me.  0  Mr.  Annesley,  pray  be 
kind  and  tell  it  at  once." 

"  I  think  I  am  the  most  bungling  fellow  that 
ever  lived  !  "  cried  Annesley,  out  of  patience  with 
himself.  "  This  is  the  third  time  I  have  startled 


212 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


you  without  any  earthly  reason  for  it.  Please 
believe,  ouce  for  all,  that  there  is  nothing  I  could 
tell  you  if  I  wanted  to — of  a  disagreeable  nature, 
I  mean.  There  is  something  I  wish  to  tell  you, 
and  mean  to  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  hurriedly ; 
"  but  it  certainly  cannot  have  the  merit  of  nov- 
elty, and  I  hope  it  will  not  be  disagreeable  to 
you.  Miss  Tresham,  do  I  need  to  tell  it  ?  Don't 
you  know — you,  without  any  help  from  me — why 
I  came  here,  and  why  I  have  remained  ?  " 

In  a  second  she  knew  what  he  meant.  A 
flush  came  over  the  pale  face,  then  died  away, 
leaving  it  paler  than  ever.  Looking  at  her,  An- 
nesley  was  startled  ;  he  did  not  know  whether  to 
hope  or  to  fear.  Only  one  thing  was  certain — a 
good  sign,  it  is  usually  considered — she  did  not 
speak.  Still  there  was  something  about  her,  now 
as  ever,  which  kept  him  at  a  distance,  which 
made  him  speak  with  humility  when  there  was 
every  reasonable  ground  for  speaking  with  hope. 

"  Miss  Tresham,"  he  said,  "  don't  be  angry 
with  me.  I  only  mean  this  :  that  I  love  you  so 
well  I  cannot  keep  silent  longer.  I — what  is  the 
use  of  talking  !  "  said  the  young  man,  with  a  sud- 
den, passionate  burst  of  excitement.  "  You  are 
every  thing  in  the  world  to  me ;  words  are  too 
poor  to  tell  you  what  you  are.  I  never  knew 
what  love  was  till  your  face  kindled  it  in  my 
heart.  I  should  have  spoken  long  ago  if — if  you 
had  given  me  one  sign  of  encouragement.  But 
you  are  so  cold,  so  self-contained.  Even  now — " 

He  stopped  suddenly — stopped  without  any 
apparent  cause — and,  turning,  walked  away. 

He  was  right.  Words  were  too  poor  to  tell 
her  what  he  felt,  to  utter  the  great  love,  the  faith- 
ful, honest  devotion  which  lay  at  her  feet  ready 
for  her  to  take  up  and  make  her  own.  But 
then,  again,  no  words  were  needed  to  tell  him 
that  he  had  spoken  in  vain,  that  there  was  no 
answer  to  his  passionate  pleading  in  that  averted 
face,  that  the  hand  lying  so  lightly  on  the  arm 
of  her  chair  would  never  be  extended  to  him, 
never — ah,  never !  The  knowledge  came  on  him 
with  a  rush — a  force  that  was  equivalent  to  a 
physical  blow.  He  stopped,  turned  pale,  and 
walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Then 
there  was  a  silence.  A  bird  just  outside  of  the 
window  was  twittering  and  trilling  as  if  in  the 
very  exuberance  of  happy  content,  a  ripple  of 
gay  voices  and  laughter  sounded  across  the  hall 
from  the  drawing-room,  and  a  gardener  just  be- 
low the  terrace  sung  to  himself  a  negro  melody 
as  he  spaded. 

Katharine  was  the  first  to  speak,  her  voice 
telling  nothing  of  the  struggle  it  had  been  to 


comm.md  it,  as  she  uttered  his  name.  He  cam« 
back  instantly,  a  light  of  wistful  hope  in  his  eyes 
that  touched  her  heart,  and  gave  her  tones  a  sort 
of  quiver  when  she  went  on : 

"Mr.  Annesley,  forgive  me  that  I  did  not 
speak.  You  surprised  me  so  much,  and  I — I  am 
not  very  strong  yet.  What  can  I  say  ?  "  she 
added,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "It  seems  use- 
less to  tell  you  that  I  am  grateful  for  the  honor 
you  have  done  me.  I  admire  you  so  much,  I 
esteem  you  so  highly,  that  I  shall  be  prouder  all 
my  life,  and  yet  sadder,  too,  to  think  that  you 
should  have  loved  me.  But  you  know — ah,  why 
have  you  been  so  foolish  ? — you  know  it  cannot 
be!" 

"  I  only  know  that  it  depends  on  you,"  said 
Annesley.  "  On  nothing— on  nobody  else.  Un- 
derstand this,  you  hold  my  life  in  your  hands. 
Keep  it,  or  throw  it  away,  just  as  you  please ; 
all  the  same,  it  is  yours." 

"Hush!"  said  Katharine,  gently.  "Pray, 
don't  talk  like  that.  Your  life — ah,  Mr.  Annes- 
ley, how  much  you  have  forgotten  when  you 
speak  so  to  me.  Your  life  can  be  nothing  to 
me,  my  life  less  than  nothing  to  you.  Not  a 
single  interest  or  possibility  of  one  crosses,  or 
can  cross,  the  other.  Why  have  you  forgotten 
this  ?  " 

"  Rather  ask  why  I  should  remember — why  I 
should  believe  it." 

"  You  know  it  is  impossible,"  said  she,  speak- 
ing with  an  earnestness  that  startled  him.  "  You 
have  acted  on  a  sudden  impulse — a  generous  im- 
pulse, I  am  sure — but  you  must  see  and  feel  that 
it  is  impossible ;  that  I  am  nothing,  that  I  never 
can  be  any  thing  to  you." 

"  You  are  every  thing  to  me,"  he  answered, 
standing  before  her,  pale  and  resolute,  deter- 
mined evidently  to  obtain  a  definite  answer 
before  he  left  her  presence. 

"  I — oh,  how  foolish  I  am ! "  said  Katharine, 
as  a  sudden  rush  of  tears  ended  her  sentence 
almost  before  it  was  begun.  She  was  foolish — 
very  foolish — but  this  was  a  great  temptation ; 
and  that  fact  may,  perhaps,  excuse  her.  How 
forlorn  she  felt,  just  now,  especially,  among 
strangers,  and  without  a  single  friend  on  whom 
it  was  possible  to  rely ;  and,  in  the  very  midst  of 
this  loneliness,  a  hand  was  extended,  a  voice 
spoke,  and  she  ^new  that  care,  kindness,  home, 
wealth,  position,  best  of  all,  earnest  love,  was 
offered  to  her.  Was  it  strange  that,  realizing 
this,  her  resolve  almost  failed,  her  heart  gave  a 
great  pang  when  she  tried  to  speak  the  words 
that  would  out  them  forever  from  her  9 


MEA   CULPA. 


213 


"Don't  distress  yourself,"  said  Annesley,  to 
whom  the  last,  worst  evil  of  earth  was  the  evil 
of  seeing  a  woman's  tears ;  "  pray,  don't  distress 
yourself;  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  if  you 
do !  I  think  I  had  better  go,"  he  said,  desperate- 
ly;  "I  shall  make  you  ill  if  I  stay  any  longer. 
All  this  agitation  must  do  you  harm.  I  will 
come  again  to-morrow.  Please  think  of  what  I 
have  said,  and — and  try  to  make  up  your  mind  to 
come  to  me.  I  think  I  could  make  you  happy,  if 
you  would,"  he  added,  wistfully,  "  and  I  am  sure 
you  could  make  me  more  than  happy." 

With  these  words  he  left  the  room,  Kath- 
arine making  not  an  effort  to  detain  him.  In 
truth,  she  was  literally  incapable  of  doing  so. 
Weakness  and  agitation  together  had  proved  too 
much  for  her.  She  was  so  completely  exhausted 
that,  after  he  was  gone,  she  could  hardly  remem- 
ber where  she  was,  or  what  had  happened. 

When  Morton  went  back  round  the  terrace 
(for  his  exit,  like  his  entrance,  was  by  way  of  the 
window),  he  found  that  Miss  Vernon  had  disap- 
peared, and  that  Seymour  was  standing  by  the 
horses,  smoking  a  cigar,  and  looking  rather 
gloomy. 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  the  good  people  in  the 
house  ?  "  asked  Annesley,  coming  up.  "  I  won- 
der if  it  is  necessary  to  do  so  before  we  go  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  answered  Godfrey,  with  a 
start.  "  And  I  don't  think  it  is  necessary.  They 
are  not  ceremonious  people,  or  people  likely  to 
be  offended.  If  you  have  finished  your  visit,  we 
might  as  well  be  off.  As  certainly  as  we  go  in,  we 
shall  have  to  stay  to  dinner." 

"  Let  us  be  off,  by  all  means,  then,"  said  An- 
nesley, springing  into  his  saddle  with  ungrateful 
haste. 

The  other  followed  his  example,  and,  riding 
briskly,  they  were  soon  out  of  the  Lester  domain. 
The  Seymour  place  was  several  miles  distant. 
They  had  ridden  a  mile  or  two  before  Annesley 
roused  sufficiently  from  his  own  abstraction  to 
notice  his  companion. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Godfrey  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  You  don't  seem  like  yourself — you  don't  even 
.ook  like  yourself." 

Godfrey  rolled  a  cloud  of  blue  smoke  from 
between  his  lips  before  he  answered.  Then  he 
laughed  shortly. 

"  A  man  is  apt  to  look  gloomy  after  he  has 
made  a  fool  of  himself,"  he  said.  "  I  have  made 
an  egregious  fool  of  myself;  so,  as  a  logical  con- 
elusion,  I  have  a  right  to  look  gloomy.  It  is 
only  the  old  story,"  he  went  on,  meeting  Annes- 
ley's  eye.  "  Every  six  months,  regularly,  for  the 


last  three  years,  I  have  asked  Irene  Vernon  to 
marry  me.  She  has  told  me,  regularly,  in  the 
gentlest  and  kindest  manner,  that  she  cannot 
think  of  such  a  thing.  Each  time  I  say  to  my- 
self  that  it  shall  be  the  last  time ;  yet  I  go  back 
and  commit  the  same  absurdity  over  again. 
With  the  best  possible  intentions  to  the  contrary, 
I  committed  it  again  this  morning." 

"  And  the  result  ?  " 

"  The  result  was  that  I  made  her  cry,  and 
that  I  should  like  to  give  myself  a  sound  drub- 
bing, if  that  would  do  any  good." 

"  Cry ! "  repeated  Annesley,  somewhat  aghast. 
"  Good  Heavens  !  I  wonder  if  women  always  cry 
on  occasions  of  the  kind  ?  " 

"  Not  if  we  may  believe  the  testimony  of  some 
lucky  fellows,"  said  Seymour,  dryly.  "  However, 
I  don't  think  a  man  is  worth  much  until  he  has 
been  rejected  once  or  twice,"  he  added,  resigned- 
ly. "  It  is  like  getting  well  thrashed  at  school— 
part  of  that  sound,  but  unpleasant  process  called 
'finding  one's  level.'  One  or  two  straightfor- 
ward noes  would  not  do  you  any  harm,  my  good 
fellow." 

"  Thanks.  I  suppose  you  mean  that  I  am  a 
puppy  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  only  mean  that  you  are  a  little  con. 
ceited,  as,  perhaps,  you  have  some  right  to  be. 
If  you  won't  consider  me  impertinent,  have  you 
ever  been  rejected  ?  " 

"  Never ! "  said  Morton,  who  had  reasons  of 
his  own  for  being  reticent  on  this  point. 

"  Then  you  have  some  of  the  needful  disci- 
pline of  life  yet  to  undergo.  Let  that  be  your 
consolation  when  the  time  of  your  discomfiture 
comes." 

"I  hope  it  may  never  come ! "  said  Annesley, 
with  perfect  sincerity. 

But,  in  his  heart,  he  could  not  help  thinking 
that  there  was  a  very  good  chance  of  its  coming 
on  the  morrow. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

MEA    CULPA. 

AFTER  Annesley  left,  Katharine  went  to  her 
own  room,  partly  because  she  was  obliged  to  lie 
down,  and  partly  because  she  wanted  to  be  alone 
and  think  over  all  that  had  occurred. 

From  this  process  resulted  great  self-con- 
tempt,  and  greater  self-reproach.  Why  had  she 
been  so  foolish  ? — why  had  she  been  so  unde- 
cided ? — why  had  she  let  herself  be  swayed  from 


214 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


what  she  knew  was  right? — why  had  she  let  him 
go  away  under  a  false  impression  that  she  might 
perhaps  say  yes  ? — and,  oh !  above  all,  why  had 
she  been  so  silly  as  to  cry  ?  She  asked  herself 
all  these  questions,  and  did  not  find  a  single  satis- 
factory answer  for  one  of  them.  The  more  she 
thought  of  the  matter — of  that  unsatisfactory, 
pointless  proposal — the  more  vexed  with  herself 
she  became.  She  could  not  walk  distractedly  up 
and  down  the  floor,  because  she  was  much  too 
weak  for  such  an  exercise ;  and  she  could  not 
tear  her  hair,  because  there  was  hardly  any  left 
to  tear ;  but  she  did  every  thing  else  that  people 
under  stress  of  strong  emotion  are  usually  ex- 
pected to  do — she  set  her  teeth,  she  wrung  her 
hands  tightly  together,  and  every  now  and  then 
impatient  exclamations  (far  from  complimentary 
to  herself)  burst  from  her  lips.  Nothing  is  more 
true  than  that  "  some  people  seem  by  intuition  to 
see  only  truth  and  right ;  others  must  needs  work 
out  their  faith  by  failing  and  sorrow.  They  real- 
ize truth  by  the  pain  of  what  is  false,  honor 
through  dishonor,  right  by  wrong  repented  of 
with  bitter  pangs."  Katharine  was  one  of  the 
latter  class.  Looking  back  over  the  events  of 
the  last  few  months,  regarding  them  as  having 
culminated  in  the  events  of  the  last  few  hours, 
no  words  can  express  the  self-contempt  and  self- 
reproach  that  rushed  over  her.  "  St.  John  was 
right,  I  have  thought  of  myself — of  nobody  but 
myself!"  she  said.  "  And  this  is  the  end.  Ah, 
me!  Are  people  always  punished  so  much  for 
considering  themselves?  If  so,  I  wonder  that 
anybody  ever  does  it" 

The  more  she  thought  of  Morton,  the  more 
the  temptation  of  his  offer  gained  strength,  and 
yet  the  more  firmly  she  determined  to  put  it  from 
her.  "  I  should  make  a  base  return  for  his  gen- 
erous kindness  if  I  accepted  him,"  she  thought ; 
yet  what  an  attraction  there  was  in  himself  and 
in  all  that  he  offered  her !  There  is  neither  sense 
nor  truth  in  saying  that  a  woman  only  feels  this 
attraction  when  she  is  in  love.  Plenty  of  women 
feel  it  about  plenty  of  men ;  yet  instinct  tells 
them  that  it  is  not  the  right  feeling — not  the 
feeling  that  will  endure,  and,  enduring,  sweeten 
all  that  even  the  happiest  married  lives  must  know 
— so  they  resist  it ;  and  so,  likewise,  it  often  takes 
as  hard  a  struggle  to  say  No,  as  it  is  sometimes 
reported  to  take  for  saying  Yes.  The  probabil- 
ities are  that,  if-  Katharine  had  loved  Annesley 
as  much  as  Juliet  could  possibly  have  loved 
Romeo,  she  would  still  have  held  firm  to  her 
refusal ;  for  with  all  her  weaknesses — and  her 
itory  shows  that  she  had  a  sufficient  number 


of  them  —  she  possessed  no  inconsiderable 
amount  of  that  rare  strength  which  enables 
a  human  soul  to  come  victorious  from  the 
most  fierce  and  terrible  combat  known  to  earth 
—  the  combat  where  self  takes  part  against 
self,  and  the  flesh  rises  against  the  spirit.  But 
Fate  had  been  kind  enough  to  spare  her  thia 
last,  worst  trial.  She  was  not  "  in  love  "  with 
him,  as  far  as  that  common  phrase  can  be  taken 
to  mean  the  eager,  impetuous  passion  that  no 
obstacle  of  rank,  time,  distance,  or  age,  can  over- 
awe. Very  probably  she  would  have  fallen  in 
love  after  the  most  approved  mode,  if  she  had 
been  of  an  equal  social  position  with  himself,  if 
she  had  not  known  that  insuperable  obstacles 
lay  between  them,  or  if  she  had  not  been  occu- 
pied with  other  and  graver  considerations.  As  it 
was,  however — at  the  risk  of  making  her  a  little 
less  interesting,  the  truth  must  be  told — her 
struggle  had  not  the  romantic  savor  which  a 
desperate  passion  hopelessly  combated  can  alone 
give ;  the  attraction  that  drew  her  toward  Annes- 
ley was,  in  great  degree,  an  attraction  apart  from 
himself. 

Yet  not  the  attraction  of  those  merely  world- 
ly advantages  which  went  with  him.  They  had 
their  weight,  of  course ;  it  is  only  in  Arcadia  that 
people  are  entirely  independent  of  such  consid- 
erations ;  but  their  weight  was  infinitely  less 
than  that  of  the  faithful  love,  the  warm  devo- 
tion, the  shielding  protection,  that  would  be  hers, 
if  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  Think  of  her 
for  a  moment — think  how  lonely  and  friendless 
and  desolate  she  stood  !  Then,  if  possible,  won- 
der that  the  temptation  was  almost  beyond  her 
strength.  Let  it  not  be  supposed,  however,  that 
any  grandiloquent  ideas  of  not  loving  him  suf- 
ficiently made  her  hold  back.  She  loved  nobody 
else ;  and  she  did  not  doubt  that  a  grande  passion 
for  this  young  paladin  would  come  soon  enough 
with  time  and  opportunity  to  help  it.  That  was 
not  the  consideration.  Yet  she — him — eh,  what 
was  the  consideration  ?  Her  head  felt  singularly 
dull  and  heavy.  Before  she  was  aware  of  it,  tired 
Nature  asserted  itself,  and  she  fell  asleep. 

How  long  she  slept,  she  had  no  means  of 
telling ;  but  the  sun,  which  was  streaming  over 
the  crystal  essence-bottles  of  the  toilet-table 
when  slumber  overtook  her,  had  entirely  veered 
round,  and  was  dancing  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp 
about  the  white  ewer  and  basin  on  the  wash- 
stand,  when  she  woke — woke  with  a  start,  and 
found  a  bright  face  surrounded  by  crisp,  red 
curls  bending  over  her. 

"  Well,"  cried  Miss  Lester,  "  it  is  not  possi 


MEA   CULPA. 


215 


ble  that  you  have%really  concluded  to  open  your 
eyes  at  last !  I  began  to  think  that  you  were 
going  to  sleep  straight  on  into  to-morrow.  Dinner 
has  been  over  ever  so  long,  and  mamma  has  been 
up  two  or  three  times  to  see  about  you.  She  came 
to  me  at  last,  and  wanted  to  know  if  I  thought 
you  could  have  taken  morphine  or  any  thing  of 
the  sort.  What  is  the  matter  ?  Does  your  head 
ache  ?  " 

"  No,  not  now,"  answered  Katharine,  putting 
her  hand  to  the  member  in  question,  and  trying 
to  remember  what  made  her  feel  so  vaguely  un- 
comfortable. Suddenly,  it  all  came  back  to  her 
with  a  rush.  Mr.  Annesley  1  Oh — yes — that 
was  it !  How  painfully  bright  the  sunshine  was  ! 
Why  could  she  not  have  been  left  to  sleep  in 
peace  ? 

"  It  does  ache,  I  am  sure,"  said  Miss  Lester, 
who  was  watching  her.  "  Is  it  the  sun  that 
dazzles  you  ?  I'll  close  the  blinds,  if  you  say 
BO." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Katharine,  rising  lan- 
guidly. "  I  believe  I  will  get  up.  I  am  sorry 
to  have  troubled  Mrs.  Lester  so  much.  I  really 
did  not  mean  to  sleep  so  long." 

"  People  can't  be  expected  to  wake  them- 
selves," said  Miss  Lester,  composedly.  "  If  you 
are  going  to  get  up,  I  will  ring  for  your  dinner. 
You  must  feel  the  need  of  something  to  eat." 

The  dinner  was  rung  for,  and  the  dinner 
came  up — a  sight  to  tempt  the  worst  valetudi- 
narian appetite.  Even  in  the  midst  of  difficul- 
ties, people  can  sometimes  be  tempted  by  dainty 
dishes  served  on  fine  old  china,  with  damask  of 
dazzling  whiteness,  as  Katharine  satisfactorily 
proved.  She  ate  her  dinner  with  considerable 
appetite ;  and,  after  it  was  finished,  Miss  Lester 
cleared  her  throat,  and  made  a  plunge  into  con- 
versation. 

"  I  would  not  tell  you  before  you  had  taken 
your  dinner,"  she  said,  "  for  a  little  thing  often 
takes  away  one's  appetite ;  but  there  is  some- 
body down-stairs  to  see  you  —  somebody  who 
came  after  you  went  to  sleep." 

Poor  Katharine !  This  was  dismaying  intel- 
ligence indeed,  for  she  thought  of  nobody  but  St. 
John ;  and,  thinking  of  him,  she  gave  such  a 
gasp,  and  grew  so  pale,  that  Miss  Lester  was 
quite  frightened.  "  Good  gracious ! "  cried  she, 
making  a  wild  dart  at  a  cologne-bottle  on  the 
toilet-table.  "  Surely  you  are  not  going  to  faint. 
I  had  not  an  idea — dear,  dear  !  why,  it  is  only  Mr. 
Warwick,  Miss  Tresham  !  What  on  earth  is  the 
use  of  looking  like  this  about  him  ?  " 

"  Mr.   Warwick ' ''  repeated    Katharine,    and 


she  gave  another  gasp,  and  tried  to  laugh.  "  Oh, 
how  much  you  startled  me!  I  was  thinking  of 
another  and — and  quite  a  different  person.  I  am 
glad  Mr.  Warwick  is  here.  But  surely  he  has 
not  come  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  To  see  you,  and  nobody  else,"  answered 
Miss  Lester,  keeping  the  cologne-bottle  still  in 
her  hand,  and  looking  suspiciously  ready  for  all 
possible  emergencies.  "  He  drove  over  from 
Hartsburg,  and  arrived  just  before  dinner.  You 
were  asleep  then,  and  mamma  would  not  let  you 
be  waked  ;  besides,  Mr.  Warwick  said  he  was  in 
no  hurry.  Take  your  time,  therefore,  about  see- 
ing him.  If  you  don't  feel  like  it  just  now — " 

"  Of  course,  I  feel  like  it,"  said  Katharine, 
rising  and  walking  to  the  mirror.  "  I  like  Mr. 
Warwick  extremely,  and  it  is  very  kind  of  him 
to  come  and  see  about  me,"  she  went  on.  "  I 
wonder  how  he  found  out  ?  Oh,  my  poor  hair! 
How  much  he  will  be  astonished  to  see  me  such 
a  fright ! " 

"  Who — Mr.  Warwick  ?  Why,  he  saw  you 
when  you  looked  a  hundred  times  worse ! " 
cried  Miss  Lester,  heedlessly.  Then  she  stopped, 
and  stammered,  as  Katharine  turned  round  in 
amazement :  "  I  mean,  of  course — I  forgot  you 
did  not  know — oh,  pshaw  !  Miss  Tresham,  it  is 
all  nonsense,  and  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  know 
that,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Mr.  Warwick,  you 
would  not  be  alive  now.  He  found  you  there  in 
Hartsburg,  when  you  were  lying  ill,  at  the  mercy 
of  that  abominable  quack  who,  I  hope,  is  hanged 
by  this  time." 

"  He  found  me  ?  Ar.  Warwick  found  me  ?  " 
said  Katharine,  in  the  depths  of  astonished  be- 
wilderment. 

After  this,  there  was  no  help  for  it.  Whether 
Miss  Lester  would  or  not,  she  was  forced  to  tell 
the  whole  history,  as  far  as  she  was  acquainted 
with  it ;  and  Mr.  Warwick  had  to  listen  resigned- 
ly to  Mrs.  Lester's  gentle  commonplaces  below, 
while  Katharine,  above,  listened  breathlessly  to 
the  account  of  his  good  deeds.  When,  at  last, 
she  went  down-stairs,  the  remembrance  of  what 
she  had  just  heard  was  flushing  her  cheeks  and 
lighting  her  eyes,  until  John  Warwick,  who  had 
naturally  expected  to  see  a  pale,  languid  invalid, 
was  quite  startled  by  the  eager,  impetuous  girl 
who  opened  the  sitting-room  door  and  walked  up 
to  him. 

"  Mr.  Warwick,"  she  said,  "  I  have  just  heard 
— I  did  not  know  before — how  very,  very  kind 
you  have  been  to  me.  Forgive  me — oh,  pray, 
forgive  me — for  having  given  you  so  much  trou- 
ble !  I  am  very  grateful  to  you !  They  tell  me 


216 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


I  should  have  died,  if  you  had  not  found  me.  I 
should  not  like  to  die,  and — and  I  am  so  grate- 
ful to  you ! " 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  clasping  her  hands  ea- 
gerly together ;  then  stopped  suddenly  at  the  last 
words,  and  extended  them  toward  him,  with  an 
impulsive  warmth  that  he  had  never  seen  her 
display  before. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Tresham,  they  have  been  im- 
posing upon  your  credulity,  I  fear,"  he  said, 
laughing,  as  he  took  the  hands  and  shook  them 
cordially.  "  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  looking 
so  well ! — You  have  done  wonders  with  her,  Mrs. 
Lester."  Mrs.  Lester,  who  was  sitting  by,  smiled 
a  bland  acknowledgment. — "  I  had  not  expected 
to  find  you  so  entirely  recovered  in  such  a  short 
time;  but  Mrs.  Crump  told  me  that  your  con- 
valescence was  very  rapid.  I  saw  Mrs.  Crump 
as  I  came  through  Hartsburg ;  I  spent  last  night 
at  the  Eagle  Hotel  She  sent  her  best  wishes  to 
you." 

"And  Mrs.  Crump — deceitful  woman  ! — kept 
me  in  ignorance  about  you.  And  Dr.  Randolph 
—Mr.  Warwick,  why  did  you  forbid  them  to 
tell  me  ?  You  might  have  known  that  I  would 
find  it  out  sooner  or  later." 

"On  my  honor,  I  did  not  forbid  them.  I 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  You  must  pour 
out  the  vials  of  your  indignation  on  Randolph's 
head,  not  mine.  By-the-by,  this  is  the  first  op- 
portunity that  I  have  had  to  return  an  article 
of  your  property  which,  strangely  enough, 
chances  to  be  in  my  possession."  t 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  drew  forth 
the  little,  worn  volume  of  Thomas  a  Kempis,  on 
which  Katharine  darted  at  once,  with  a  cry  of 
recognition  and  delight. 

"  My  '  Imitation  of  Christ ! '  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Warwick  !  I  am  so  glad 
to  see  it  again !  I  thought  I  had  surely  lost  it 
during  all  that  dreadful  time  of  which  I  remem- 
ber nothing.  It  is  such  a  pleasure  to  recover 
it!" 

"If  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  instru- 
mental in  saving  your  life,"  he  said,  "  you  may 
thank  that  book  for  my  having  done  so.  If  the 
landlady  had  not  brought  it  to  me,  I  should 
have  gone  away  totally  unconscious  that  I  had 
passed  the  night  under  the  same  roof  with 
you." 

Katharine  opened  the  book,  and  pointed  to 
the  faded  writing. 

"  It  seems  like  a  blessing  accorded  to  her 
prayers,"  she  said,  softly.  "  I  can  hardly  think 
that  I  deserved  it.  But  you  have  not  told  me — 


I  don't  understand — how  did  you  chance  to  be 
in  Hartsburg  ?  " 

"  Your  memory  is  bad,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"  Have  you  forgotten  a  note  that  I  wrote  you 
when  I  left  Tallahoma,  nearly  two  months 
ago  ?  " 

"  A  note  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  note.  Stop  and  try  to  think  what  it 
was  about.  That  will  tell  you  how  I  chanced  to 
be  in  Hartsburg." 

She  stopped  and  thought  for  a  minute,  be- 
fore she  succeeded  in  grasping  the  missing  idea. 
Then,  like  a  flash,  her  face  cleared,  and  she 
looked  up  at  him. 

"  I  remember  !  You  said  you  were  going  to 
take  Felix  Gordon  to  school.  Were  you  on  your 
way  back  to  Tallahoma  when  you  stopped  in 
Hartsburg  ?  " 

"  Yes,  on  my  way  back." 

"  And  you  found  me  accidentally  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  the  book. 

"If  we  may  call  that  accident." 

Her  glance  followed  his. 

"  No,"  she  said,  reverently ;  "  it  was  not  acci- 
dent. I  hope  I  am  sufficiently  grateful — to  God 
first,  and  to  you  afterward.  You  have  done  so 
much — so  very  much — for  me,  and  I,  alas  !  can 
do  nothing  for  you." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Warwick,  smiling 
slightly,  "  you  can  do  something  for  me,  and 
you  must  not  be  surprised  when  I  tell  you 
what  it  is." 

"  I  shall  not  be  surprised,  no  matter  what 
it  is.  I  am  only  too  glad  to  hear  that  there  i* 
something,"  she  said,  earnestly. 

Mrs.  Lester,  with  commendable  discretion, 
had  left  the  room  by  this  time,  and  they  were 
alone.  Miss  Tresham  was  sitting  on  a  low  chair 
at  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  while  Mr.  Warwick 
still  stood  before  her,  in  his  favorite  attitude, 
with  one  hand  on  the  mantel.  After  her  last 
words,  he  sat  down,  and  looked  at  her  kindly 
with  his  clear  blue  eyes. 

"  I  did  not  expect  you  to  make  such  a  rash 
promise,"  he  said.  "  But,  since  you  have  done 
so,  I  will  take  advantage  of  it.  What  I  ask  of 
you,  then,  is — confidence." 

She  started*  colored,  and  looked  at  him  a  lit- 
tle apprehensively. 

"Pray  be  quiet,"  he  said.  "I  won't  distress 
you,  if  it  is  possible  to  avoid  it.  Can't  you  trust 
me— a  little  ?  " 

"  I  trust  you  a  great  deal,"  she  answered, 
simply. 

"  Very  well,  then.     Trust  me  thus  far — tell 


MEA   CULPA. 


217 


me  candidly,  as  you  would  tell  your  own  brother, 
the  reasons  why  you  left  Tallahoma." 

There  was  a  minute's  silence.  Katharine 
checked  a  question  which  rose  to  her  lips,  strug- 
gled with  herself  a  minute — the  varying  color 
made  that  evident — then  lifted  her  eyes,  and 
spoke  as  quietly  as  he  had  advised. 

"  I  will  not  ask  why  you  think  it  necessary 
to  make  this  inquiry,  Mr.  Warwick.  I  am  sure 
you  must  have  some  good  reason,  or  you  would 
not  do  it.  You  don't  know  how  strangely  your 
question  strikes  me  after — after  some  thoughts  I 
had  this  morning.  It  seemed  to  me  then  that, 
looking  back  on  the  last  few  months,  I  could 
trace  all  that  I  have  suffered  to  one  thing — my 
own  cowardice.  I  ought  to  have  spoken  plainly 
from  the  first — spoken  as  I  will  endeavor  to 
speak  now,  if  you  have  patience  enough  to  listen 
to  me.  Don't  be  astonished  if  I  go  very  far 
back,  though ;  I  must  do  it  to  make  you  under- 
stand." 

"  I  can  spare  you  a  little,  perhaps,"  he  inter- 
posed here.  "  Do  you  know  that  the  Catholic 
priest — what  is  his  name? — Mr.  Martin,  from 
Saxford,  was  summoned  when  you  were  so  ill  ? 
I  sent  for  him  principally  that  I  might  inquire 
if  you  had  any  friends  or  relations.  I  thought 
he  was  more  likely  to  know  than  any  one  else. 
Well " — as  she  colored  deeply — "  I  see  that  you 
anticipate  what  I  am  about  to  say.  You  must 
not  blame  him.  I  pressed  him  hard,  and  he 
thought  you  were  certainly  dying.  Under  these 
circumstances,  he  finally  told  me  that  you  had  a 
brother — the  Mr.  St.  John  I  had  seen  in  Talla- 
homa." 

"  And  you  thought — " 

"  I  thought  nothing,  believe  me,  that  I  need 
hesitate  to  tell  you.  If  I  ask  your  confidence 
now,  it  is  because,  knowing  thus  much,  I  find  it 
necessary  to  know  more;  why,  I  will  tell  you 
presently." 

"You  don't  despise  me  for  having- been  so 
—so  cowardly  about  acknowledging  him  ?  " 

A  dark  cloud  came  over  the  lawyer's  face, 
a  cloud  which  absolutely  frightened  Katharine, 
and  yet  which  had  no  possible  relation  to  her. 

"  I  do  not  even  blame  you,"  he  answered. 
"More  than  that  I  can  not  say,  until  I  know 
more.  I  am  sorry  to  impose  such  a  hard  task 
upon  you,  but — " 

"  It  is  not  a  hard  task,"  she  interrupted,  ea- 
gerly. "  It  is  almost  a  relief  to  tell  it  to  you.  I " 
(she  looked  at  him  wistfully),  "  I  begin  to  wish 
that  I  had  told  you  every  thing  when  you  asked 
tne  some  time  ago,  if  you  remember." 


"It  would  have  been  much  better  if  you 
had." 

"  Yes,  I  see  that  now.  But  then  it  seemed 
so  useless,  it  seemed  like  a  confidence  without  a 
purpose.  You  could  not  help  me,  I  thought,  and 
so  why  should  I  trouble  you  ?  Afterward,  after 
he  came,  of  course,  it  was  harder  to  do.  Yon 
can't  tell  what  he  has  been  to  me  all  my  life," 
she  said,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  I  can  imagine." 

"  My  first  remembrance  is  one  of  terror  and 
dislike  of  him.  We  lived  in  Jamaica  with  an 
aunt — our  parents  were  both  dead — and  even  yet 
it  makes  me  burn  with  indignation  to  think  how 
her  life  was  robbed  of  all  peace  and  sunshine  by 
St.  John.  Mr.  Warwick,  I  can't  go  into  particu- 
lars. They  would  not  interest  you,  and  they 
would  make  me  uncover  some  bitter  ashes  which 
I  tried — tried  hard  to  bury  in  her  grave.  Only 
believe  that  he  repaid  her  kindness  by  ingrati- 
tude and  bad  conduct  of  every  possible  descrip- 
tion. I  ought  to  explain,  perhaps,  that  she  had 
adopted  us  from  our  earliest  childhood,  from  my 
earliest  recollection.  We  never  bore  any  other 
name  than  hers." 

"  Yet  your  brother — "  he  began. 

"  Is  named  St.  John,"  she  interrupted.  "  Yes, 
I  know.  But  St.  John  is  merely  one  of  his  bap- 
tismals,  the  one  by  which  we  always  called  him, 
and  it  was  only  when  he  finally  separated  from 
us  that  he  dropped  Tresham  and  adopted  his 
second  Christian  name  as  a  surname.  Well,  at 
last  it  became  impossible  that  my  aunt  could 
endure  him  any  longer.  She  wrote  to  his  guar- 
dian in  England,  a  man  whom  he  had  never  seen, 
and  represented  matters  so  forcibly  that  St.  John 
was  removed  from  her  nominal  control.  The 
guardian  desired  that  he  should  be  sent  to  Eng- 
land, which  was  done.  After  that,  as  a  means 
of  escaping  from  him  in  case  he  came  back,  she 
left  Jamaica  and  went  to  live  in  Porto  Rico.  It 
was  in  vain,  however,  as  far  as  her  object  was 
concerned.  After  a  while  he  followed  us;  he 
was  in  need,  and  wanted  money.  Slender  as  my 
aunt's  means  were,  she  was  forced  to  comply  with 
his  demands,  as  a  condition  of  getting  rid  of 
him.  This  left  her  too  poor  to  move  away  again 
if  she  had  felt  disposed  to  attempt  it.  That  was 
but  the  beginning.  St.  John  did  not  come  very 
often,  but  he  continually  wrote  for  money ;  and 
you  can  imagine  what  it  was  to  have  this  con- 
tinual cloud  hanging  over  one's  life  and  home, 
and  the  face  one  loved  best  in  the  world.  What 
his  life  was  in  Europe,  meanwhile,  I  cannot  even 
pretend  to  say ;  I  cannot  bear  to  think.  Thera 


218 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


was  a  man  named  Fraser,  who  seemed  his  special 
comrade;  or,  rather,  I  should  say,  his  leader  in 
the  life  on  which  he  entered.  That  man — well, 
you  have  heard  of  him.  St.  John  told  me  that 
he  is  Mrs.  Gordon's  husband." 

"  Yes ;  I  have  heard  of  him." 

"  Perhaps,  then,  you  know  better  than  I  do 
how  St.  John  lived  during  the  intervals  of 
months,  sometimes  years,  in  which  we  never 
heard  of  him.  As  I  have  said,  he  only  came  or 
wrote  when  he  was  in  need.  He  had  not  been 
heard  from  for  a  long  time,  when  my  aunt  died 
and  left  me  desolate.  Almost  her  last  words  im- 
plored me  to  leave  the  West  Indies  and  go  to 
some  place  where  he  would  not  be  able  to  trace 
me.  '  He  will  ruin  your  life  if  you  do  not  escape 
from  him,'  she  said.  '  He  will  destroy  every  pros- 
pect of  happiness  that  you  could  possibly  have  if 
he  knows  where  you  are,  and  if  you  acknowledge 
him  and  give  him  a  claim  upon  you.'  She  was 
dying,  Mr.  Warwick ;  you  may  believe  that  I  was 
ready  enough  to  promise  to  avoid  him  if  I  possi- 
bly could.  Well,  I  left  the  West  Indies,  and 
went  to  England  to  an  old  friend  of  hers,  who 
obtained  a  very  good  situation  for  me  at  Dorn- 
thorne  Place.  I  had  lived  there  a  year — con- 
tented, at  least,  if  not  happy — when  one  day  St. 
John  appeared.  By  some  means  he  had  tracked 
me  down ;  from  the  mere  desire  to  torment  me, 
I  honestly  believe,  for  he  knew  I  was  in  no  posi- 
tion to  aid  him.  This  man  of  whom  I  have  spo- 
ken, Fraser,  I  mean,  had  inherited  a  large  Scot- 
tish property,  and  St.  John  was  living  with  him 
as  his  secretary.  The  knowledge  that  he  was 
living  near  me,  the  knowledge  that  he  knew 
where  I  was,  filled  me  with  the  old  terror.  I 
remembered  my  dear  aunt's  dying  admonition, 
and,  coupled  with  my  own  inclination,  it  made 
me  resolve  to  leave  England  and  come  to  Amer- 
ica. I  felt  that  I  should  be  more  safe  from  him 
here.  You  know  how  I  came,  how  kindly  your 
sister  took  me,  how  quietly  and  happily  I  lived. 
But  it  all  ended  on  that  November  evening  when 
you  brought  me  his  letter ;  the  same  evening  that 
Mrs.  Gordon  arrived.  Do  you  remember  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Warwick's  memory  was  very  good.  He 
said,  with  perfect  truthfulness,  that  he  remem- 
bered it. 

"  After  I  received  that  letter,  the  terror  of  his 
coming  grew  upon  me  to  an  almost  morbid  de- 
gree. At  one  time  I  had  nearly  made  up  my 
mind  to  leave  Tallahoma,  but  then  that  was  very 
hard  to  do ;  I  had  grown  so  much  attached  to 
the  children,  and  Father  Martin  (to  whom  alone  I 
told  my  story)  counselled  me  against  it.  '  Wait,' 


he  said ;  and  I  waited,  alas !  too  long.  I  waa 
very  miserable  during  that  time,  though  you  were 
the  only  person  who  perceived  it.  I  remember 
one  day  I  was  reading  St.  John's  letter  over 
again,  in  the  parlor,  when  somebody  came  in,  and 
I  hastily  put  it  out  of  sight  in  a  sheet  of  music 
and  forgot  it.  Not  long  afterward  Mr.  Annesley 
was  turning  over  my  music  and  found  it.  This 
seems  a  trifling  thing,  no  doubt,  but  you  don't 
know  what  a  shock  it  was  to  me.  I  seemed  to 
realize  who  and  what  he  was  so  clearly  when  it 
came  to  the  point  of  speaking  of  Mm  to  some- 
body else.  Of  course,  the  feeling  grew  because  it 
was  indulged.  I  did  not  combat  it  as  I  should 
have  done ;  and,  at  last,  it  reached  such  a  point, 
that  I  felt  as  if  I  would  sooner  die  than  acknowl- 
edge him.  J  see  now  how  wrong  it  all  was,  how 
nothing  but  selfish  regard  for  the  opinion  of  the 
world,  and  wretched  human  pride,  was  at  the  bot- 
tom of  it;  but  then  I  gave  way,  and  tried  to 
make  myself  believe  that  it  was  right  to  give  way 
to  it." 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  think  it  was  wrong,"  ob- 
served the  lawyer,  gravely. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  it  was  wrong.  I  see  things 
more  clearly  now ;  somehow  it  seems  as  if  I  al- 
most see  them  as  clearly  as  I  might  have  seen 
them  on  that  death-bed  which  I  so  narrowly 
escaped.  We  are  not  put  into  this  world  to 
think  of  ourselves.  Now,  I  thought  of  nobody 
but  myself.  I  shirked  the  plain  duty,  I  tried  to 
throw  off  the  plain  burden  which  God  put  be- 
fore me,  and  all  out  of  mere  Worldly  opinion  and 
fear  lest  my  name  should  be  linked  with — with — 
0  Mr.  Warwick,  nothing  can  ever  do  away  with 
this !  It  was  cowardice,  it  was  wretched  cowar- 
dice, and  all  that  has  followed  is  my  fault." 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  remind  you  that  you  are 
wandering  from  the  point,"  said  Mr.  Warwick. 
"  It  is  a  bad  thing  to  be  discursive.  Suppose  you 
go  back  to  causes,  and  let  effects  alone." 

She  «aw  what  he  meant.  "  I  won't  excite 
myself,"  she  said.  "  There  is  no  use  in  that, 
you  know.  But,  all  the  same,  it  is  my  fault. 
Well,  St.  John  came ;  and,  of  course,  after  he 
came,  matters  with  me  grew  worse.  After  I  took 
the  first  false  step — I  see  now  that  it  was  a  false 
step — in  the  way  of  concealing  his  relationship, 
and  attempting  to  conceal  his  visits,  I  went 
deeper  and  deeper  into  difficulties.  At  first  it 
seemed  very  simple.  He  assured  me  that  he 
would  leave  as  soon  as  he  received  the  money  I 
was  able  to  give  him,  and  I  counted  certainly  on 
his  keeping  his  word.  But  then  came  his  recog' 
nition  of  Mrs.  Gordon,  and  his  writing  to  her  hus- 


MEA   CULPA. 


219 


band,  and  all  the  rest.  Have  you  seen  Mrs.  Gor- 
don, Mr.  Warwick  ?  have  you  heard  how  she 
came  in  and  found  St.  John  with  me,  and  how 
she  charged  me  with  having  brought  him 
there  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said,  kindly.  "I  have  heard 
both  from  herself  and  from  Bessie.  Qon't  trou- 
ble yourself  to  go  over  that." 

"  Well,  after  she  left,  a  sudden  impulse 
seemed  to  take  possession  of  me ;  I  felt  desper- 
ate, felt  as  if  I  must  get  away,  let  what  would  be 
the  consequences.  I  chanced  to  remember  that 
Father  Martin  would  be  in  Saxford  on  the  Sun- 
day following  New  Year.  I  thought  I  would  go 
and  ask  him  what  to  do.  If  you  had  been  in 
Tallahoma,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  I  should 
have  asked  your  advice ;  but  you  know  you  had 
gone.  That  was  Friday.  I  had  barely  time  to 
catch  the  coach  and  go  to  Saxford.  Acting 
on  impulse,  I  went."  She  then  told  him  sub- 
stantially the  same  that  she  had  told  Annesley 
with  regard  to  the  days  she  spent  in  Saxford, 
the  nervous,  feverish  desire  of  flight  which  had 
beset  her,  and  the  manner  in  which  she  went  to 
Hartsburg.  After  this,  she  added :  "  There  is 
only  one  thing  I  have  neglected  to  mention.  On 
that  last  morning,  just  before  Mrs.  Gordon  came 
in,  St.  John  told  me  for  the  first  time  how  he 
had  discovered  where  I  was.  Mr.  Warwick, 
don't  refuse  to  credit  me  when  I  tell  you  that  it 
is  somebody  in  Lagrange,  somebody  whom  I 
could  never  possibly  have  imagined,  who  was 
cruel  enough  to  advertise  in  the  London  Times 
for  information  concerning  me." 

"  I  have  heard  that,  too,"  said  Mr.  Warwick. 
"  I  see  you  think  that  I  have  heard  every 
thing,"  he  added,  smiling ;  "  but  you  forget  how 
natural  it  was  that  Mrs.  Gordon  should  men- 
tion this  advertisement  to  me." 

"  I  remember  that  she  saw  it,  that  I  showed 
it  to  her." 

"  Since  you  have  mentioned  the  matter,  per- 
haps you  will  not'/be  surprised  if  I  ask  you  a 
question  concerning  it :  have  you  any  idea  who 
was  the  author  of  that  advertisement  ?  " 

"  Idea !  How  could  I  have  ?  I  knew  so  few 
people  out  of  Mr.  Marks's  family;  I  flattered 
myself  that  I  had  not  an  enemy,  or  any  thing 
approaching  to  an  enemy,  in  Lagrange." 

"  Stop  and  think  a  moment.  Is  there  nobody 
in  Lagrange  whom  it  was  in  your  power  to  disap- 
point, and — after  a  certain  fashion — injure?  Miss 
Tresham,  brain-fever  certainly  has  not  improved 
the  keenness  of  your  perceptions." 

"  Mr.  Warwick,  you  do  not  mean — " 


"  Well  ?  "  (as  she  paused). 

"  You  cannot  mean  Mrs. — Mrs.  Annesley  ?  " 

"  I  do  mean  Mrs.  Annesley." 

"  But  this  is  only  a  conjecture  on  your  part ; 
you  are  not  sure  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me — I  am  perfectly  sure." 

"Mr.  Warwick!" 

''Well?  "  (smiling  again). 

"  Oh,  don't  smile ! "  cried  she,  passionately, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  "  It — it  ia 
so  horrible !  That  she  could — that  she  would— 
Oh,  what  had  I  ever  done  to  injure  her!  How 
had  she  the  heart ! " 

"  Be  reasonable,"  said  he,  gently.  "  I  was 
indignant  too — as  indignant  as  you  could  possi- 
bly be — when  I  first  heard  of  it ;  but,  after  think- 
ing  it  over  coolly,  I  saw  that  a  woman — a  mere- 
ly worldly  woman  like  Mrs.  Annesley — was  not 
so  much  to  blame  for  taking  this  step.  Miss 
Tresham,  she  did  not  even  know  you  personally 
when  she  wrote  that  advertisement." 

"  But  she  knew — anybody  must  have  known 
— that  it  was  a  cruelly  dishonorable  thing  to 
do !  How  could  she  tell  what  she  might  bring 
upon  me  ? " 

"  She  probably  thought  much  more  of  her- 
self than  of  you ;  and  more,  perhaps,  of  her  son, 
than  of  either.  Have  you  yet  to  learn  how  easily 
people  reason  themselves  into  a  belief  that  a 
thing  which  they  wish  to  do,  is  a  thing  that  it 
is  right  to  do  ?  I  have  no  doubt  that  this  adver- 
tisement, and  every  thing  connected  with  it,"  he 
went  on,  "  seemed  to  Mrs.  Annesley  a  solemn 
duty." 

"  Does  that  excuse  her?  " 

"Well — no.  Morally  speaking,  I  suppose  it 
does  not.  Philosophically  speaking,  however,  it 
may.  Try  to  be  a  philosopher,  Miss  Tresham," 
he  continued,  with  an  effort  to  divert  her  that 
might  have  amused  Katharine  if  she  had  been  in 
a  humor  to  be  amused.  "  I  should  not  have 
told  you  had  I  supposed  that  you  would  take  it 
so  seriously ;  in  fact,  I  should  not  have  told  you 
at  all,  if  I  had  not  been  sure  that,  in  thinking  tlu- 
matter  over,  your  own  suspicions  would  point  (o 
the  right  mark." 

"They  might  have  done  so,"  she  said,  a  lit- 
tie  wearily.  "  I  cannot  tell." 

Her  head  sank  on  her  hand  with  a  dejection 
that  touched  the  lawyer.  "She  loves  Morton, 
and  this  is  hard  on  her,"  he  thought.  "  Poor 
girl ! "  He  rose,  walked  to  the  window,  stood 
there  a  moment  looking  out,  then  turned  and 
came  back. 

"  Miss  Tresham,"  he   said,  seriously,  "  shall 


220 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


I  tell  you  something  else  that  made  me  speak 
of  this  ?  I  thought  you  might  perhaps  respect 
my  opinion — a  man  of  my  age  is  apt  to  be  vain 
on  that  point,  you  know — and  I  thought  that,  if 
you  were  inclined  to  take  an  extreme  view  of  Mrs. 
Annesley's  conduct,  I  might  throw  all  the  weight 
of  this  opinion  into  the  other  scale.  You  have  no 
friend  in  the  world,"  he  went  on,  with  energy, 
"  who  feels  your  interest  more  than  J  do,  or 
who  would  be  quicker  to  resent  your  injuries. 
But,  on  my  honor,  I  do  not  think  that  Mrs.  An- 
nesley  can  be  very  much  blamed.  Remember 
that  we  must  not  judge  people  by  our  own  stand- 
ard of  honor  and  dishonor,  of  right  and  wrong. 
We  must,  as  much  as  possible,  judge  them  by 
their  own.  Mrs.  Annesley's  code  is  of  the  world, 
worldly :  judge  her  by  that,  Miss  Tresham,  and 
see  if  you  cannot  excuse  her." 

"No,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  hard,  set  look 
about  the  mouth.  "  Judged  by  the  merest  code 
of  worldly  honor,  this  was  a  dishonorable  act. 
Don't  try  to  make  me  think  otherwise,  Mr.  War- 
wick; I  cannot.  Besides,  what  does  it  matter? 
— Mrs.  Annesley  is  nothing  to  me." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  he  said.  "  She  may 
be  a  good  deal  to  you  some  day ;  that  is,  if  you 
are  wise.  You  must  excuse  me  if  I  speak  of 
something  that  does  not  seem  exactly  my  con- 
cern. Miss  Tresham,  you  would  not  let  such  a 
thing  as  this  weigh  against  Morton's  honest, 
unselfish  love  ? — Morton,"  he  proceeded,  ear- 
nestly, "  whom  I  have  known  ever  since  he  was 
a  child,  and  who  is  certainly  one  of  the  very  best 
fellows  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Katharine,  quietly,  "  I  am  glad 
to  say  that  it  has  not  weighed  with  me.  In 
utter  ignorance  of  his  mother's  act,  I  told  Mr. 
Annesley  this  morning  that  I  could  not  marry 
him." 

"  Miss  Tresham  ! " 

"  Well,"  said  she,  a  little  surprised  at  the 
astonishment  on  his  face,  "  what  is  there  so 
amazing  in  that  ?  Surely,  Mr.  Warwick,  you  did 
not  think  that  I  would  marry  him  ?  " 

"  I  thought  so  —  yes,"  said  Mr.  Warwick, 
beginning  to  recover  himself  a  little.  "  Why 
should  I  not  think  so  ?  If  you  were  my  own  sis- 
ter, I  could  not  wish  a  better  fate  for  you  than  to 
be  his  wife.  A  woman  could  scarcely  nsk  more 
than  Morton  Annesley  is  able  to  give." 

"  And  you  advise  me  to  accept  him  ?  " 

"  I  do,  most  emphatically." 

"  I  had  not  expected  this  of  you,"  she  said, 
impulsively.  "  Think  what  a  position  you  would 
place  me  in!  Mr.  Annesley  himself  is  every 


thing  that  is  kind,  and  generous,  and  disinter- 
ested ;  but  his  mother — his  friends — what  just 
ground  they  would  have  for  complaint  if  I  were 
selfish  enough  to  accept  him  !  It  looks,  perhaps, 
as  if  it  would  be  doing  a  good  thing  for  myself," 
she  went  on  ;  "  but  in  truth  (unless  I  was  willing 
to  find  happiness  in  fine  dresses  and  jewels,  and 
the  like),  I  should  be  doing  the  worst  possible 
tiling.  Such  a  marriage  would  be  too  ill-assorted 
for  any  hope  of  happiness.  As  Mr.  Annesley 
grew  older — he  is  little  more  than  a  bright, 
warm-hearted  boy  now — he  would  feel  it  himself. 
Can  you  not  think  what  it  would  be  to  him — he 
so  proud,  so  sensitive  to  the  least  shadow  of  dis- 
honor— to  know  that  his  wife's  brother  was — ' 
was —  0  Mr.  Warwick,  don't  you  see  how  blind 
and  foolish  I  should  be,  even  to  my  own  best  in- 
terests, if  I  did  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  I  see  this,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  whose  ear 
was  quick  enough  to  catch  the  pathetic  ring  in 
her  voice,  "that  you  are  on  the  eve  of  doing  what 
many  high-strung  natures  have  done  before  you  ; 
that  is,  of  throwing  away  substantial  happiness 
for  an  unsubstantial  scruple.  I  am  a  practical 
man,  Miss  Tresham,  and,  you  may  take  my  word 
for  it,  that  all  these  things  of  which  you  have 
spoken  are  not  worth  considering  when  placed  in 
comparison  with  a  heart  like  Morton's.  If  you 
love  him — " 

"  If  I  loved  him,"  interrupted  she,  "I  might 
not  be  able  to  reason  as  I  have  done.  But  I 
don't  love  him  ! " 

"  You  don't  ?  " 

"  No — I  don't.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  why," 
she  said,  with  half  puzzled  frankness.  "Nobody 
knows  better  than  I  do  how  charming  he  is,  no- 
body could  admire  or  respect  him  more ;  but  I 
do  not  love  him.  Perhaps  because  I  have  had 
otlier  things  to  think  of,  or  because  I  knew  how 
many  insurmountable  barriers  were  between  us, 
or,  again,  because  I  have  learned  to  put  little 
faith  in  the  admiration  and  attention  that  any 
moderately-attractive  woman  is  sure  to  re- 
ceive." 

"  But  are  you  certain  of  this;  are  you  certain 
that  you  are  not  deceiving  yourself?  " 

"  I  am  certain.  He  was  here  this  morning, 
and  I  have  had  a*ll  day  to  think  about  it ;  that  is, 
until  I  went  to  sleep.  I  assure  you  that  saying 
No  to  him  did  not  cost  me  a  pang,  unless  (I  will 
be  quite  frank  with  you)  it  was  the  pang  of  feel- 
ing my  own  loneliness." 

"  You  feel  your  loneliness,  then  ?  " 

Her  eyes  softly  filled  with  tenrs — tears  tluit 
had  no  bitterness  in  them.  She  lookod  at  the 


MISS  TKESHAM'S   REPLY. 


221 


Stile,  worn  volume  closely  clasped  in  her  hand ; 
then  round  the  pleasant,  home-like  room. 

"  They  are  all  very  kind  to  me,"  she  said. 
"  But  how  could  I  feel  other  than  lonely  here  ?  " 

Something  in  the  simple  words,  something  in 
the  pathetic  glance,  went  to  the  lawyer's  heart 
like  a  shaft.  He  knew  more-— much  more — than 
she  did  the  loneliness  of  her  position ;  much  more 
than  she  did  of  the  difficulties  that  surrounded 
her.  Looking  at  her  as  she  sat  in  the  deep,  old- 
fashioned  arm-chair,  she  seemed  so  fair,  so  deli- 
cate, so  little  fitted  to  cope  single-handed  with 
that  world  over  which  only  the  sternest  triumph, 
that  an  impulse  which  he  could  not  resist — an 
impulse  which  he  afterward  bitterly  regretted — 
made  him  speak  words  that  Katharine  little  ex- 
pected to  hear. 

"  Yes,  I  can  see  that  you  are  lonely,"  he  said, 
with  something — a  gentleness  that  she  did  not 
quite  understand — in  his  voice.  "  Miss  Tresh- 
am,  do  you  think  it  would  be  a  hard  fate  to  ex- 
change this  loneliness  for  care,  and  protection, 
and  love,  even  though  there  were  little  besides 
these  things  to  win  your  heart?  I  am  old 
enough  to  be  your  father,  but  if  you  can  resolve 
to  trust  yourself  with  me,  I  do  not  believe  you 
will  ever  repent  it ;  at  least "  (with  an  uncon- 
scious inflection  of  pathos),  "  I  promise  you  that 
no  effort  shall  be  wanting  on  my  part  to  prevent 
your  ever  repenting  it." 

For  one  bewildered  moment  the  room  seemed 
going  round  with  Katharine.  Was  she  awake  ? 
— was  she  asleep  ? — was  it  Mr.  Warwick  who  had 
spoken  these  words  ?  Was  it  he  sitting  there, 
or — or —  How  foolish  she  was !  He  had  not 
meant  that — she  was  sure  she  had  misunder- 
stood. He,  of  all  men,  had  not  meant  to  ask 
her — 

"  Mr.  Warwick,"  she  said,  turning  pale,  "  it 
cannot  be  —  it  is  not  possible  —  you  do  not 
mean — " 

Mr.  Warwick  cut  the  confused  sentence  very 
abruptly  short. 

"I  mean,"  he  said,  quietly,  "that  I  have 
asked  you  to  marry  me.  Will  you  do  it  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

MISS  TRESHAM'S  REPLY. 

THIS  time,  at  least,  Katharine  could  not  mis- 
take the  meaning  of  what  she  heard.     Deliber- 
ately— with  his  eyes  open,  and  every  outward  ap- 
pearance of  a  sane  man— Mr.  Warwick  asked 
15 


her  if  she  would  marry  him  !  It  is  not  too  much 
to  say  that  amazement  literally  superseded  every 
other  feeling  with  her.  It  is  seldom,  indeed, 
that  an  offer  comes  with  quite  such  a  force  of  un- 
expected surprise.  Usually,  if  there  is  no  posi- 
tive preparation,  there  is  a  suspicion  at  least,  a 
word,  a  glance,  or,  it  may  be,  only  a  tone,  to  show 
what  is  coming.  But  here  there  was  absolute 
want  of  preparation,  absolute  astonishment,  and, 
for  a  time  at  least,  absolute  incapacity  to  reply. 
Then  the  realities  of  the  occasion  began  to  as- 
sert themselves  ;  and  Katharine  tried  to  meet  the 
emergency. 

"  It  seems  impossible  that  you  can  be  in  ear- 
nest, Mr.  Warwick,"  she  said  ;  "  but  if — if  you 
are,  I  scarcely  know  what  to  say  to  you." 

"  Would  you  like  time  to  consider  ? "  he 
asked.  "  If  so,  take  it." 

"  No,  I  do  not  require  time  to  consider," 
she  replied.  "  No  amount  of  consideration 
could  teach  me  any  fitting  words  in  which  to 
thank  you — in  which  to  say  to  you  how  deeply  I 
feel  the  kindness  which  has  made  you  speak  to 
me  thus.  I  see,  I  reel,  why  you  have  done  so  ; 
but" — clasping  her  hands,  and  speaking  pas- 
sionately— "  you  certainly  cannot  think  so  poor- 
ly of  me  as  to  believe  that  I  would  repay  all 
that  you  have  done,  all  that  you  would  do  for 
me,  by  marrying  you  because  I  am  poor  and 
lonely ;  because  I  need  a  home  and  a  friend  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Tresham,"  said  he,  smiling 
gravely,  "  I  am  not  a  romantic  or  passionate 
lover  like  the  man  whom  you  have  already  re- 
jected. I  was  not  very  much  addicted  to  pas- 
sion or  sentiment  in  my  youth ;  but  now — well, 
now  I  am  equally  beyond  the  age  and  the  incli- 
nation for  either.  Still  I  think  I  may  say  that 
I  love  you  well  enough  to  be  willing  to  be  ac- 
cepted even  on  those  terms.  Don't  look  so  much 
astonished  " — as  her  eyes  opened  on  him  large 
and  startled.  "  I  have  spoken  on  the  strength 
of  an  unaccountable  impulse.  When  I  entered 
this  room,  I  had  not  the  least  intention  of  such 
a  thing.  I  was  sure  you  would  marry  Annesley. 
It  was  only  when  I  discovered  my  mistake  that 
I  thought  I  might  give  you  the  option  of  accept- 
ing or  rejecting— a  man  old  enough  to  have  left 
love-making  behind  him  !  Only  "—here  he  took 
a  short  turn  up  and  down  the  room — "  the  hsarl 
will  not  grow  old  with  years.  We  may  think 
that  it  does,  we  may  flatter  ourselves  that  it  has, 
until  suddenly  there  comes  an  hour  when  pas- 
sion, strong  as  any  passion  of  youth,  seizes  it,  and 
we  know  that  age  has  left  one  citadel  uncon- 
quered.  I  tell  you  this,"  he  went  on,  parsing 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


igain  in  front  of  her,  "  because  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  think  that  I  have  asked  you  to  marry 
me  simply  on  account  of  your  lonely  position.  I 
have  foved  you  longer  than  you  can  imagine — 
longer  than  I  knew  myself — but  it  never  occurred 
to  me  to  think  of  telling  you  so.  My  age  alone 
put  such  a  declaration  out  of  the  question.  Now, 
however — " 

"  Now  you  think  of  me ! "  cried  Katharine, 
with  a  rush  of  tears — a  softer  shower  than  that 
which  had  driven  poor  Morton  from  the  field — 
"  0  Mr.  Warwick,  I  am  so  sorry,  if  I  had  known 
this  earlier,  I  might  perhaps  have  learned  to  love 
you,  I  might  have  been  able  to  marry  you ;  but, 
as  it  is,  I — oh,  pray  forgive  me — I  cannot." 

"  You  cannot  promise  to  marry  me,  and  trust 
that  the  love  will  come  with  time  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  mournfully.  Through 
their  brimming  tears,  her  eyes  said  again  "  For- 
give me,"  as  she  answered,  "  I  dare  not." 

"  Think  a  moment,"  he  said,  in  evident  agi- 
tation. "  Believe  me,  I  do  not  press  you  from 
mere  selfishness.  Do  you  not  think  you  like  me 
even  well  enough  to  marry  me  for  the  sake  of 
that  home  and  that  friend  of  which  you  spoke  a 
moment  ago  ?  " 

"  I  like  you  too  well,  much  too  well  for  that," 
she  cried,  passionately.  "Don't  you  see — ah, 
don't  you  see  how  it  is !  If  I  liked  you  a  little 
less,  I  might  marry  you  for  such  a  motive  ;  while 
if  I  liked  you  a  little  more,  I  should  marry  you 
for  your  own  sake.  But,  standing  between  the 
two,  I  only  feel  your  generous  effort  to  make  me 
happy.  I  am  only  sure  that  I  should  repay  you 
very  ill,  if  I  accepted  you  for  any  reason  but  the 
right  one." 

There  was  silence  for  some  time  after  this. 
Through  her  tears,  Katharine  glanced  up  into 
Mr.  Warwick's  face,  and  was  surprised  to  see 
how  grave  and  thoughtful  it  looked,  as  he  stood 
with  his  eyes  absently  fastened  on  the  fire.  He 
did  not  know  that  she  was  looking  at  him  ;  so  he 
allowed  an  expression  of  troubled  perplexity  to 
betray  itself,  which  he  would  otherwise  have 
kept  concealed.  Something  in  this  expression 
struck  the  girl  with  a  vague  foreboding  of  ill. 
The  fear  that  had  found  such  frequent  expression 
when  Annesley  was  with  her,  suddenly  sprang  to 
her  mind  and  to  her  lips  again.  Before  she  was 
conscious  of  what  she  was  doing,  she  leaned  for- 
ward and  touched  his  arm. 

"  Mr.  Warwick,"  she  said,  as  he  turned  quick- 
ly toward  her,  "  I  am  sure  something  is  the  mat- 
ter— something  in  which  I  am  concerned.  Tell 
me  what  it  is." 


The  quickness  with  which  she  leaped  to  a 
conclusion  would  have  taken  anybody  but  a  law- 
yer by  surprise — would  have  thrown  anybody  but 
a  lawyer  off  his  guard.  It  required  all  Mr.  War- 
wick's professional  command  of  countenance  not 
to  show  how  closely  her  shaft  had  struck  home. 
As  it  was,  he  had  only  just  presence  of  mind 
enough  to  smile. 

"Why  should  you  think  that?"  he  asked. 
"  Can't  you  imagine  that  I  was  thinking  of  my- 
self, and  my  own  great  disappointment  ?  " 

"  No,  you  were  not  thinking  of  yourself,"  she 
answered.  "  You  were  thinking  of  me — I  am 
sure  of  it.  Mr.  Warwick,  if  it  is  any  thing  about 
St.  John — it  is  something  about  St.  John  ! "  cried 
she,  suddenly  springing  to  her  feet,  as  she  caught 
an  expression  on  his  face  that  it  was  beyond  his 
power  to  control.  "  I  knew  it !  I  felt  sure  of 
it !  Oh  ! " — with  a  ring  of  imploring  agony  in 
her  voice — "  tell  we  what  it  is." 

"  Sit  down,  Miss  Tresham,"  said  Mr.  War- 
wick, almost  peremptorily.  "  There  is  no  know- 
ing  what  harm  you  may  do  yourself  by  this  ex- 
citement. There  has  been  a  little  trouble  in 
Tallahoma,  and  Mr.  St.  John  was  mixed  up  in 
it,"  he  added,  quietly;  "but  I  assure  you  every 
thing  is  right  and  straight  now.  Still,  if  you  in- 
sist upon  hearing  about  it — " 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  do  ! " 

"I  can  give  you  an  outline  of  the  matter.  I 
am  sorry,  however,  that  you  force  me  to  it,  for 
I  think  you  have  had  agitation  enough  for  one 
day.  Why,  you  are  quivering  like  an  aspeu- 
leaf ! " 

"  Never  mind.  I  cannot  help  it,  it  is  purely 
nervous.  Go  on,  please ;  tell  me  what  he  has 
done." 

As  gently  as  possible  Mr.  Warwick  told  her, 
softening  the  blow  by  every  means  in  his  power. 
But  no  gentleness,  no  softness,  could  break  ita 
awful  force,  could  shut  out  from  her  sight  the 
hideous  truth.  "  0  my  God  ! "  she  exclaimed, 
when  she  first  clearly  understood  what  it  was 
that  he  had  done.  But  after  that,  no  sound  came 
from  her  lips.  She  sat  with  her  face  buried  in 
her  hands,  and  only  now  and  then  a  long,  shud- 
dering sigh  seemed  to  shake  her  whole  frame 
from  head  to  foot.  Even  after  Mr.  Warwick 
ceased  speaking — after  he  had  made  his  last 
attempt  at  pitying  comfort — she  still  sat  bent 
down,  crushed,  as  it  were,  by  the  double  blow  of 
anguish  and  disgrace. 

"  Miss  Tresham,  this  will  never  do,"  said  he, 
at  last.  "  This  is  not  like  you — is  it  worthy  of 
you  ?  Can  you  find  no  comfort  in  the  fact  thai 


MISS   TRESHAM'S   REPLY. 


223 


ao  one  is  aware  of  Mr.  St.  John's  complicity  in 
the  matter  ?  Have  you  not  sufficient  reliance  in 
me  to  feel  that  the  secret  is  as  safe  with  me  as 
with  yourself?  " 

"I  should  be  the  most  ungrateful  human 
being  in  the  world  if  I  did  not  feel  it,"  said  she, 
lifting  her  face — so  pale  and  drawn,  that  it  abso- 
lutely startled  him — "  but  not  even  your  kind- 
ness can  alter  the  fact  itself— the  terrible,  awful, 
overwhelming  fact !  Mr.  Warwick,  I  never,  never 
thought  I  could  sink  so  low  as  this  !  " 

""Which  do  you  consider  worst,"  said  Mr. 
Warwick,  coolly,  "  this  conduct,  or  that  of  which 
you  have  spoken  with  regard  to  yourself?  " 

"  Oh,  this,  this  !  " 

"  There  I  don't  agree  with  you.  The  man 
who  robs  a  defenceless  woman,  as  this  man  has 
robbed  you,  does  not,  it  is  true,  make  himself 
amenable  to  the  law,  as  when  he  breaks  into  a 
bank  ;  but  he  does  transgress  the  higher  law — 
the  moral  law — as  much,  or,  perhaps,  more ;  and 
the  man  who  violates  the  one,  will  not  hesitate 
to  violate  the  other,  whenever  he  thinks  that  he 
can  do  so  with  impunity.  Miss  Tresham,  believe 
me,  you  need  not  regret  Mr.  St.  John's  moral  de- 
gradation— I  mean  that  you  need  not  think  he 
has  taken  any  deeper  step.  When  he  entered 
the  bank  to  rob  it,  he  was  committing  an  act 
which  made  him  liable  to  the  penalties  of  the  law, 
if  the  law  could  detect  him ;  but  he  was  not, 
even  in  degree,  taking  a  deeper  step  in  abstract 
dishonesty,  than  when  he  entered  it  to  rob 
you ! " 

"  But  the  disgrace — the  terrible  disgrace ! " 

"  So  far  as  that  goes,  so  far  as  the  opinion 
of  the  world  goes,  a  thing  cannot  be  disgraceful 
which  is  not  known.  If  you  trust  me  at  all, 
trust  me  this  far,  nobody  ever  shall  know  of 
this." 

"  0  Mr.  Warwick — "  Once  more  the  tears 
came,  and  ended  all  further  speech.  He  made 
DO  effort  to  stop  them,  but  walked  away  to  the 
window,  and  left  her  to  herself;  sure  that  those 
tears  would  do  more  to  relieve  her  heart  and 
clear  her  brain  than  any  words  of  his  could. 
As  he  stood  there,  feeling  sad  and  sore  enough 
at  heart,  he  watched  the  last  red  glow  of  sunset 
fade  from  the  top  of  some  distant  trees,  and  the 
lovely  veil  of  spring  twilight  begin  to  steal  over 
the  earth.  Something  in  the  scene  and  in  the 
hour  carried  his  thoughts  back  to  that  evening 
when  the  doctor  said  that  the  life  so  near  him 
now,  the  life  at  that  moment  throbbing  with  the 
emotions  and  sorrows  of  earth,  would  pass  before 
morning  into  eternity,  when  he  had  gazed  at  the 


steady  advance  of  night,  and  waited  for  Morton 
Annesley  to  decide  whether  or  not  the  heart  of 
that  dying  girl  was  his.  "  Poor  fellow ! "  said 
the  lawyer,  half  aloud,  forgetting  his  own  cause 
for  wounded  feeling  in  pitying  the  young  man 
who  had  been  so  full  of  honest,  impulsive  grief. 
Strangely  enough,  he  was  standing  at  that'  mo- 
ment exactly  in  the  place  where  Morton  had  stood 
a  few  hours  before  waiting  to  hear  his  sentence. 
Katharine  noticed  it  when  she  turned  to  speak, 
and  saw  that  he  had  left  her  side. 

"And,  knowing  this,  you  counselled  me  to 
marry  Mr.  Annesley ! "  she  cried,  her  voice,  with 
a  sudden  flash  of  indignation  in  it,  making  him 
start,  as  it  rang  through  the  silent  room.  "  Oh, 
how  could  you  do  it?  how  could  you  think  so 
meanly  of  me?  how  could  you  think  that  I 
would  carry  such  a  stain  as  this  to  a  man  who 
loved  me  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  seriously  think  that  your  broth- 
er's conduct  leaves  any  stain  on  you  ?  "  said  he, 
coming  back,  with  something  of  his  usual  slight, 
grave  smile  on  his  lip.  "  Miss  Tresham,  I  am 
astonished  at  you !  Such  talk  sounds  like  melo- 
dramatic nonsense  in  a  novel  or  a  play !  If  An- 
nesley were  here,  he  would  tell  you  what  I  tell 
you  for  him,  that  Mr.  St.  John  is  not  of  the  least 
importance  when  considered  in  connection  with 
yourself.  As  for  this  affair  in  Tallahoma,  I  see 
but  one  result  springing  from  it,  and  that  is  a 
good  one.  It  has  taken  the  scoun — the  man 
out  of  your  path.  Trust  me  that,  as  long  as  you 
remain  in  Tallahoma,  you  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  him.  He  will  never  return  there,  for  he 
knows  that  I  hold  evidence  against  him  which 
would  convict  him  in  any  court  of  law." 

"  And  yet  you  let  him  go  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  let  him  go." 

"  On  my  account  ?  " 

"  Do  I  need  to  tell  you  that  ?  do  you  sup- 
pose any  other  motive  could  have  induced  me  to 
spare  him  ?  " 

"  And  you  have  done  all  this  for  me,  while 
I — "  she  stopped,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  held  them  so  a  moment,  and  then  looked 
up.  "  Mr.  Warwick,"  she  said,  with  exquisite 
gentleness,  "  I  begin  to  appreciate  your  offer  of 
a  moment  ago ;  I  begin  to  see  more  clearly  why 
you  made  it.  I  begin  to  understand  that,  when 
you  offered  me  a  home,  you  did  so  because  no 
other  home  is  open  to  me.  You  have  not  spoken 
of  Mr.  Marks.  I  feel  sure  that  he  does  not  wish 
me  to  return  to  them." 

For  the  second  time  during  the  course  of  this 
interview  Mr.  Warwick's  face  betrayed  him.  Th« 


224 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


climax  to  her  speech  came  so  suddenly,  that  he 
was  no*  prepared  for  it ;  and,  feeling  her  eyes 
steadily  fastened  on  him,  he  knew  that  evasion 
or  concealment  was  useless.  The  truth  had 
already  shown  itself,  and  the  truth  must  be 
told. 

"You  are  right,  Miss  Tresham,"  he  said; 
"my  sister's  husband  has  fallen  many  degrees 
in  my  estimation,  by  his  refusal  to  receive  you 
again.  But  you  mistake  very  much  when  you 
think  that  I  asked  you  to  marry  me  merely  to 
offer  you  a  home.  It  is  true  that  your  loneli- 
ness encouraged  me  to  tell  you  of  my  love,  but 
that  love  existed  long  before  this  loneliness  came 
upon  you." 

"  But  still  it  is  true — Mr.  Marks  does  not  wish 
me  to  return  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,"  he  answered.  He  could  say  no 
more,  for  he  was  too  indignant  with  his  brother- 
in-law  to  attempt  to  make  excuses  for  his  con- 
duct (which  really,  if  he  had  looked  at  it  dispas- 
sionately, did  not  merit  indignation),  and  he 
could  not  but  be  wounded  by  Katharine's  indif- 
ference to  those  last  words  of  his — words  which 
had  been  so  full  of  earnest  feeling. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  girl,  wearily,  "  how  desolate  I 
am,  how  very  desolate !  I  cannot  stay  much 
longer  with  these  kind  people,  and  yet  where  to 
go,  what  to  do  ?  Mr.  Warwick,  am  I  asking  too 
much  of  your  kindness  and  forbearance  when  I 
beg  you  to  advise  me  what  to  do  ?  " 

Mr.  Warwick  might  have  replied  that  he  had 
already  advised,  and  that  his  advice,  in  two  differ- 
ent cases,  had  been  unhesitatingly  rejected.  But 
he  was  one  of  the  rare  men — rarer,  by  far,  than 
heroes,  or  geniuses,  or  exceptional  wonders  of  any 
other  description — who,  on  emergencies,  can  put 
themselves  aside,  and  speak  or  act  for  others 
without  any  bias  of  egotism.  He  considered 
for  a  moment,  and  then  he  said : 

"  I  think  that  Tallahoma  would  be  the  best 
place  for  you  just  now,  because  Talluhoma  is 
Bafe  from  Mr.  St.  John.  You  are  not  well 
enough  to  be  molested  by  him,  and  you  are  only 
safe  from  that  molestation  when  you  are  where 
he  will  not  dare  to  venture.  Will  you  allow  me 
to  ask  if  you  gave  him  all  the  money  which 
Marks  paid  to  you  ?  " 

"  All.  I  borrowed  ten  dollars  from  Mrs. 
Marks  to  go  to  Saxford — by-the-way,  I  must 
return  it  to  you  for  her — and  in  Saxford  I  sold 
my  watch,  when  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  do- 
ing, to  enable  me  to  go  farther.  They  were  very 
honest  at  the  hotel  in  ITartsburg.  I  found  all 
that  money  safe  in  my  bag  when  I  got  well.  I 


have  it  still,  for  Mrs.  Crump  would  not  receive 
any  before  I  left.  She  laughed,  and  told  me  I 
could  settle  the  bill  when  I  came  back.  Dr. 
Randolph  said  the  same  thing.  After  those  bills 
are  paid,  however,  I  scarcely  think  there  will  be 
any  left." 

"  Never  mind  those  bills.  I  have  already  set- 
tled them.  Surely" — as  he  saw  a  deep  flush 
come  over  her  face — "  you  do  not  mind  being 
indebted  to  me  for  such  a  trifling  amount,  and, 
I  hope,  for  such  a  short  time.  Remember,  Miss 
Tresham" — smiling  a  little  sadly — "I  am  old 
enough  to  be  your  father.  I  assure  you  that  I 
have  the  bills,  and  you  may  pay  me  the  full 
amount  as  soon  as  you  are  able  to  do  so.  Wait, 
however,  and  don't  attempt  to  pay  me  until  you 
are  able.  Give  me  the  pleasure  of  helping  you  a 
little.  Now  " — hurrying  on — "  the  question  is, 
have  you  money  enough  to  come  and  board  in 
Tallahoma  while  I  endeavor  to  obtain  another 
situation  for  you  ?  I  am  sure  I  can  do  this  in  a 
short  time." 

"I  believe  I  have  a  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars. The  watch  had  been  my  aunt's,  and  was 
richly  jewelled.  It  should  have  sold  for  much 
more ;  but  I — I  was  not  in  a  condition  to  do  any 
thing  but  take  the  first  sum  that  was  offered  me. 
Nevertheless,  this  amount  is  enough  to  support 
me  for  a  time,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  For  a  short — "  Mr.  Warwick  began,  when 
the  door  behind  him  opened  and  shut  quickly,  a 
silk  dress  rustled  across  the  floor,  and  through 
the  dusky  gloom  Irene  Vernon  came  forward, 
her  eyes  shining,  her  cheeks  glowing,  and  her- 
self looking  like  some  radiant  picture  that  had 
stepped  from  its  canvas  to  walk  the  earth  in 
guise  of  flesh  and  blood. 

"Mr.  Warwick,"  she  began,  abruptly,  "and 
you,  Miss  Tresham,  pray  pardon  me  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  overheard  a  little  of  your  conver- 
sation. I  was  passing  along  the  terrace  a  mo- 
ment ago,  and,  as  I  stopped  by  the  window,  I 
caught  the  sound  of  your  voices,  and  heard  a 
few  words — enough  to  send  me  in  upon  you, 
and  make  me  venture  to  ask  you  "  (addressing 
Katharine)  "  a  question.  Am  I  right  in  gather- 
ing from  those  few  words,  that  you  do  not  intend 
to  return  to  Mrs.«Marks  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Vernon,  you  are  quite  right,** 
said  Katharine,  quietly.  "  I  do  not  intend  to 
return  to  Mrs.  Marks,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
Mrs.  Marks  does  not  wish  my  services  any  long- 
er." 

"  And  you  are  talking  of  going  to  Tallahomt 
to— to  board  ?  " 


MISS   TRESHAM'S   REPLY. 


225 


"  Mr.  Warwick  has  advised  something  of  the 
lort." 

"  Well,  I  will  give  you  better  advice  than  Mr. 
Warwick's,  then,"  said  the  young  beauty,  with 
her  most  royal  tone  and  look.  "  You  can  go 
back  to  Tallahoma — in  fact,  I  think  it  is  a  good 
thing  to  do — but  you  must  go  back  with  me. 
No — not  a  word !  I  positively  won't  hear  a  word 
until  I  have  finished  what  I  have  to  say.  It  is 
very  uncivil  to  interrupt  people,  is  it  not,  Mr. 
Warwick  ? — Well,  Miss  Tresham,  I  was  about  to 
tell  you  that  I  heard  to-day  from  my  sister,  for 
whom  I  have  been  waiting  here,  and  she  cannot 
join  me.  My  troublesome  brother-in-law  has 
managed  to  break  his  leg — Flora  says  she  thinks 
he  did  it  on  purpose  to  keep  her  at  home — and 
she  begs  me,  instead  of  going  on  to  Mobile,  to 
come  back  to  Lagrange  and  wait  for  her.  Now, 
I  will  go  back  on  one  condition — that  you  go  with 
me.  Flora  took  a  great  fancy  to  you,  and  so  did 
George,  and  they  will  both  make  you  heartily 
welcome,  not  to  speak  of  the  pleasure  of  my 
society.  You  can  get  well  there  at  your  leisure, 
and — and — indeed  it  is  just  the  thing  for  you. — 
Mr.  Warwick,  tell  her  that  she  ought  to  go ! " 

"  Miss  Vernon,  you  are  too  kind,  much  too 
kind,"  began  Katharine,  in  that  tone  which  inev- 
itably presages  a  refusal;  when  Miss  Vernon 
broke  in  upon  her  with  an  utter  disregard  of  her 
own  theory  about  interruptions  : 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Miss  Tresham,  I  am  not 
at  all  too  kind — nobody  ever  was  too  kind  in 
this  world.  If  there  were  such  a  thing  as  being 
too  kind,  it  might  not,  perhaps,  be  quite  as  hard 
a  world  to  live  in  as  it  is.  That  is  social  cant ; 
and  you  know  how  I  hate  social  cant.  I  see 
plainly,"  she  went  on,  "  that  you  .ire  going  to 
say  something  about  '  deeply  grieved,'  and  '  im- 
possible to  accept,'  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I 
will  take  it  for  granted  that  you  have  already 
said  it ;  and  I  will  ask  you  to  give  me  one  rea- 
son— a  single  reason — why  it  is  impossible  for 
you  to  accept  the  kindness  (saying  that  it  is  a 
kindness)  which  I  have  offered  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  claim  upon  such  kindness,"  Kath- 
arine said. 

"  You  have  the  claim  of  my  liking  you ;  what 
better  could  there  be  ?  " 

"I  have  not  even  that  claim  upon  your  sis- 
ter." 

"  Upon  my  sister  !  Why  she  likes  you  ex- 
ceedingly ;  and,  even  if  she  did  not,  she  would 
be  glad  to  see  you  all  the  same. — Mr.  Warwick, 
did  you  ever  hear  any  thing  quite  as  absurd  as 
the  idea  of  her  making  a  bugbear  out  of  Flora, 


of  all  the  people  in  the  world  ?  "  (Persuasive), 
"  Tell  her,  please,  that  she  ought  to  come  I " 
(Imperative),  "  Tell  her  that  she  must  come ! " 

Said  Mr.  Warwick,  looking  a  little  amused: 
"  Miss  Tresham,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  well 
to  consider  Miss  Vernon's  proposal  ?  It  seema 
to  me  that  it  is  a  very  clear  way,  and  a  very 
pleasant  way  out  of  all  your  difficulties — present 
ones,  at  least." 

"  But  I  really  cannot,"  said  Katharine. 
"  Miss  Vernon  is  mistaken  if  she  thinks  it  is 
social  cant  when  I  say  that  she  is  too  kind — 
that  her  kindness  blinds  her  to  the  objections 
against  her  plan." 

"  Name  them,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  with  busi- 
ness-like brevity. 

"  I  am  under  very  many  obligations  already," 
said  Katharine.  "  I  cannot  consent  to  increase 
their  number." 

"  That  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  pride," 
said  Miss  Vernon,  concisely ;  "  and  pride,  no 
doubt  you  are  aware,  is  the  besetting  sin  of 
human  nature,  and  the  one  we  are  most  called 
upon  to  struggle  against.  I  was  reading  in  your 
— what  do  you  call  it  ? — your  manual,  the  other 
day,  and  I  saw  that  you  were  specially  told  to 
mortify  your  will.  Now,  here  is  a  good  oppor- 
tunity for  you  to  mortify  your  will  by  going  with 
me  to  Lagrange." 

Katharine  laughed.  It  was  impossible  to  do 
otherwise — the  girl's  manner,  half-serious,  half- 
whimsical,  made  such  a  strange  and  complete 
contrast  to  the  highly-wrought  frame  of  mind 
which  she  had  dispelled  by  her  entrance.  She 
had  brought  a  fragrance  of  violets  into  the  room 
with  her,  and  as  she  stood  in  the  soft  gloaming, 
with  the  firelight  gleaming  on  her  silk  dress  and 
a  gold  locket  that  hung  round  her  throat,  she 
seemed  to  have  brought  an  atmosphere  of  other 
things  besides  violets — of  sweet  thoughts  and 
noble  impulses,  and  generous,  kindly  deeds. 

Katharine  was  won  by  her  now,  as,  indeed, 
she  had  been  from  the  first ;  and,  when  two  soft, 
white  hands  took  hers,  and  a  gentle  voice  said, 
"  See  !  I  ask  it  of  you  as  a  favor  to  me.  Won't 
you  come  ?  "  she  remembered  how  tenderly  those 
hands  had  nursed  her  through  her  desperate  ill- 
ness, and  she  felt  that  refusal  was  no  longer 
possible. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  will  come." 

And  so  it  was  settled.  Thus,  swayed  as  it 
seemed  by  the  merest  chance,  yet  led,  who  can 
doubt,  by  the  kindest  care,  she  took  the  road  back 
to  Lagrange— that  road  that  was  leading  slowlj 
but  surely  to  the  end. 


226 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


It  was  determined  that  they  would  leave  the 
next  morning.  Miss  Vernon,  on  her  own  (that 
is,  her  sister's)  account,  was  anxious  to  do  so ; 
but  she  good-naturedly  proposed  to  wait  several 
days  if  Miss  Tresham  desired.  To  her  surprise, 
Katharine  begged  that  the  journey  might  not  be 
deferred  on  her  account. 

"  I  am  quite  well  enough  to  travel,"  she  said ; 
u  and,  if  I  could  only  go  away  from  here  to-mor- 
row morning  early,  I  should  be  so  glad — so  very 
glad ! " 

"  But  Mr.  Annes — ,"  began  Miss  Vernon,  in 
amazement.  Then  she  paused,  her  bright-blue 
eyes  turned  keenly  on  her  companion's  face,  and 
in  a  moment  the  truth  flashed  over  her. — "  Miss 
Tresham,"  she  cried,  sharply,  almost  angrily  (they 
were  alone  in  Katharine's  room  a  little  while  be- 
fore supper),  "  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you 
have  rejected  Morton  Annesley  ?  " 

"  Miss  Vernon,"  answered  Katharine,  with  a 
touch  of  the  besetting  sin  of  human  nature,  "  did 
you  think  it  likely  that  I  would  accept  him  ?  " 

"  Did  I  think  ?  Of  course,  I  thought  you 
would  accept  him,"  returned  Miss  Vernon. 
"  Why  should  I  not  think  so  ?  You  seemed  to 
like  him,  and  he  is  certainly  every  thing  that  a 
woman  could  wish  to  like.  Miss  Tresham,  you 
can't  have  done  such  a  thing !" 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  said  Katharine,  who  was 
tired  of  the  subject,  and  could  not  bear  the 
Idea  of  running  another  gantlet  of  remonstran- 
ces. "  Yes,  I  have  ;  and,  if  you  only  knew  my 
reasons  for  having  done  so,  I  am  sure  you  would 
not  blame  me." 

"  I  would  blame  you  ! "  cried  Miss  Vernon, 
indignantly.  "  I  don't  believe  that,  if  I  knew 
any  or  every  reason  that  could  possibly  have  in- 
fluenced you,  I  should  blame  you  a  single  de- 
gree less  than  I  do  now." 

"Don't  make  rash  assertions,"  said  Knth- 
arine,  smiling  faintly,  "  I  cannot  go  into  a  detail 
of  all  the  motives  that  influenced  me ;  but,  put- 
ting most  of  them  aside,  one  is,  or  ought  to  be, 
enough  to  exonerate  me  from  blame.  Miss  VTer- 
non,  I  grant  all  Mr.  Annesley's  good  qualities 
so  cordially  that  I  think  the  woman  who  marries 
him  ought  to  love  him  devotedly.  Now,  I  don't 
love  him  at  all.  Would  you  advise  me  to  return 
all  the  generous  devotion  that  is  willing  to  give 
•o  much  by  a  cold  sort  of  liking  that  is  not  able 
to  give  any  thing  ?  " 

"  But  is  it  possible  that  you  really  do  not 
love  him  ?  " 

"  It  is  certainly  possible ;  and — ah,  me !  I 
must  write  to-night  and  tell  bim  so.  The  letter 


can  be  delivered  after  we  leave,  in  time  to  pr« 
vent  his  coming  here  to-morrow  morning." 

"  You  are  determined  to  go,  then  ?  " 

"  The  decision  rests  with  you  ;  but  I  should 
like  to  go." 

"  Of  course,  then,  the  matter  is  settled ;  we 
will  go. — Heigho  ! "  sighed  the  young  lady  to  her- 
self, as  she  left  the  room.  "  Poor  Morton  !— 
poor,  dear  fellow !  How  strangely  contrary  to 
what  we  expect,  things  turn  out  sometimes  !  " 

That  night  Katharine  sat  down  to  write  her 
letter  to  Annesley.  Taken  at  any  time,  or  un- 
der any  circumstances,  it  was  a  hard  letter  to 
write ;  but,  with  an  aching  head,  and,  worse  yet, 
an  aching  heart,  the  difficulties  of  composition 
were  many  times  increased. 

Everybody  does  the  same  thing  in  a  case  liks 
this.  Everybody  spoils  one  sheet  of  paper  aftei 
another;  makes  beginnings  with  the  desperate 
intention,  "  This  shall  do ! "  becomes  disgusted 
at  the  third  line,  throws  it  aside  disdainfully,  or 
wrathfully  crumples  it  up,  and  dashes  at  another 
fair  page,  with  the  same  result.  One  stilted  ad- 
dress follows  another ;  the  gamut  of  endearing, 
or  respectful,  or  uncivil  terms  is  run  from  end 
to  end,  until  at  last — if  common-sense  can  man- 
age to  get  a  hearing — the  grand  conclusion  of 
so  many  experiments  is  simple,  and  generally 
brief. 

Thus  it  was  with  Katharine.  After  getting 
well  on  in  half  a  dozen  lengthy  epistles,  she  at 
last  thought  how  foolish  and  vain  all  words  be- 
sides the  few  strictly  necessary  ones  were,  and 
the  result  of  this  thought  was  the  following 
note: 

44  DEAR  MR.  ANNESLEY  :  Miss  Vernon  has 
kindly  asked  me  to  accompany  her  back  to  La- 
grange  and  spend  a  few  weeks  at  her  sister's 
house  until  I  am  strong  enough  to  find  another 
situation.  I  shall  leave  with  her  to-morrow 
morning.  This  arrangement,  made  since  I  saw 
you,  renders  it  necessary  that  I  should  write  and 
tell  you  how  deeply  I  feel  your  kindness,  and 
how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to  accept  all  you 
have  offered  me.  I  will  not  pain  you — as  I  know 
I  should  do— by  speaking  of  the  great  disparity 
in  our  social  positions,  and  of  other  greater  ob- 
stacles, which  under  any  circumstances  would 
stand  between  us.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  say 
that  the  woman  whom  you  honor  with  your  heart 
should  love  you  as  you  deserve  to  be  loved — aa 
some  woman  far  more  worthy  of  you  than  I  am 
will  yet  love  you — and  that  this  love  it  is  not  in 
my  power  to  give  you.  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Annes- 


GOOD   SAMARITANS. 


227 


ley,  if  this  sounds  ungracious — sounds  as  if  I 
had  forgotten  all  the  many  kindnesses  which 
are,  in  truth,  written  on  my  heart.  I  must 
Bpeak  frankly,  and  make  myself  clearly  under- 
stood, for  your  sake,  as  well  as  for  my  own. 
Every  feeling,  except  the  one  feeling  which  alone 
you  would  be  willing  to  accept,  I  have  for  you. 
Each  one  of  them  makes  me  your  warjn  and  life- 
long friend  ;  but  all  of  them  put  together  are  not 
strong  enough  to  make  me  your  wife.  God  bless 
you,  Mr.  Annesley !  God  make  you  happy !  God 
reward  you  for  all  your  generous  kindness !  It 
is  hard  to  close  this  letter  here,  and  yet  there 
is  nothing  more  to  say,  unless  I  ask  you  again 
to  forgive  me. 

"  Faithfully,  your  friend, 

"  KATHARINE  TRESHAM. 
"  BELLEFONT,  Thursday  night." 

It  was  done.  For  the  second  time  that  day 
Katharine  deliberately  put  aside  the  love  and 
the  protection  which  two  different  men,  each 
well  worthy  of  trust,  had  offered  her,  and  with 
the  blind,  heedless,  yet  sometimes  divine  impulse 
of  youth,  turned  from  the  golden  gifts  of  life, 
those  gifts  for  which  some  wretched  women  are 
willing  to  sell  themselves  into  legal  bondage,  and 
went  her  way  alone.  It  had  been  a  struggle,  a 
hard  struggle,  in  both  cases  ;  it  was  a  struggle, 
even  after  this  letter  was  written,  to  seal  it  and 
lay  it  aside,  saying :  "  Lie  there,  happy  days,  full 
to  the  brim  of  love  and  content,  and  soft  belong- 
ings, and  tender  care,  and  glittering  pleasure ! 
Lie  there,  sweet  dreams  of  what  might  be,  of 
affection  ripening  into  love,  and  trust  growing  in 
sweetness  and  strength  with  every  passing  year  ! 
Lie  there,  words,  and  looks,  and  tones,  that  will 
never  see  the  light ;  days  possible,  yet  forever 
unborn ;  emotions  never  to  be  felt,  and  the  whole 
current  of  a  life  never  to  be  lived  !  "  It  was  hard 
to  hold  out  the  arms,  saying  :  "  Come,  weary  days 
filled  with  toil,  uncheered  by  any  smile  from  kin- 
dred lips,  or  glance  from  loving  eyes  !  Come, 
days  that  lead  among  the  rough  by-ways  of  the 
world,  and  toss  the  living,  yearning  human  heart 
from  one  strange  household  to  another,  that  teach 
in  every  hour  of  your  flight  how  some  paths  are 
strewed  with  roses  only  that  others  may  be  filled 
with  thorus  !  Come,  days  within  whose  very  bit- 
ter lurko  a  sweet  that  only  those  who  meet  you 
willingly  can  ever  taste — a  sweet  like  that  grand 
victory  which  noble  deeds  wring  from  defeat, 
which  come  when  the  spirit  has  dropped  its 
arms  after  long  conflict,  and  the  divine  secret 
of  content  begins  to  steal  upon  the  soul,  the 


first  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  the  first  star- 
tied,  humbled  thanks  to  God  that  He  guided  the 
blind  eyes  and  the  faltering  hand,  and  gave  at 
last  the  leaden  casket  with  the  precious  jewel 
shrined  within  1 " 


CHAPTER  XL. 

GOOD     SAMARITANS. 

GREAT  was  the  astonishment,  and  greater  the 
consternation,  of  the  Bellefont  household  when 
they  heard  of  the  intended  departure  of  Miaa 
Vernon  and  Miss  Tresham.  With  Miss  Lester  in 
especial,  these  feelings  verged  strongly  on  indig- 
nation. 

"  Your  sister  is  absurd.  If  Mr.  Raynor  chose 
to  break  his  leg,  surely  she  is  able  to  nurse  him 
without  any  assistance  from  you ! "  cried  this 
young  lady  to  Miss  Vernon.  "  I  thought  you 
might  be  content  to  stay  with  me  for  a  little 
while;  you  are  not  nearly  strong  enough  to 
travel  yet,"  she  said,  reproachfully,  to  Miss 
Tresham. 

Miss  Vernon  laughed,  and  Katharine  apolo- 
gized, but  they  both  remained  firm  in  their  inten- 
tion. Bellefont  charmed  wisely,  but  charmed  in 
vain. 

"  We  must  go,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  decidedly, 
and  Katharine  echoed,  "  We  must  really  go !  " 

They  did  go,  notwithstanding  all  the  persua- 
sive eloquence  employed  by  their  kind  hosts. 
And,  when  these  last  saw  that  the  resolution  was 
firm,  they  made  a  virtue  of  necessity  and  yielded 
gracefully,  remembering  that  the  law  of  hospital- 
ity is  double,  and  that  it  is  as  incumbent  to 
speed  the  parting  as  to  welcome  the  coming 
guest. 

"  You  won't  forget  us,  I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs. 
Lester,  wistfully,  when  she  kissed  the  young 
stranger  who  had  taken  such  a  hold  on  her 
heart. 

And  she  vras  right.  In  all  the  years  of  her 
life  Katharine  never  forgot  the  pleasant  home 
which  had  opened  its  doors  to  her  in  the  hour 
of  her  need,  nor  the  cordial  faces  and  warm 
hearts  that  had  surrounded  her  with  kindnea* 
and  care. 

When  the  last  thanks  had  been  uttered,  the 
last  farewells — many  times  repeated — were  over, 
and  the  last  glimpse  of  pretty  Bellefont,  crown- 
in"  its  stately  terraces,  had  vanished  from  sight, 
Katharine  could  scarcely  restrain  her  tears.  She 
felt  as  if  she  were  bidding  adieu  to  peace,  as  if 


228 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


she  were  leaving  quiet  behind  her,  and  turning  ' 
her  face  toward  turmoil.  She  had  seemed  to 
escape  out  of  that  uneasy  current  of  ttfe  in  La- 
grange,  to  be  able  to  spread  her  wings  for  wider 
flight  and  freer  air,  yet,  of  her  own  accord,  she 
was  now  going  back — she  was  now  drifting  again 
among  the  scenes  and  the  people  that  haunted 
her  like  uneasy  dreams  of  delirium,  and  inspired 
her  with  a  strange  shrinking  impossible  to  analyze 
and  hard  to  resist. 

"  I  have  an  instinct  approaching  to  a  cer- 
tainty that  I  ought  to  have  turned  my  face  in 
the  other  direction,"  she  said,  to  Miss  Vernon,  as 
the  horses  trotted  gayly  along  the  smooth  road, 
and  she  felt  that  every  moment  was  taking  her 
nearer  to  Lagrange. 

"And  I  have  an  instinct  approaching  to  a 
certainty  that  you  are  doing  the  right  thing  in 
taking  this  direction,"  answered  Irene,  smiling. 
"  Now,  the  question  is,  which  instinct  is  entitled 
to  the  most  respect  ?  " 

"  Mine,  I  think,  since  I  have  a  reason  for  it." 

"  A  good  one  ?  " 

"  A  very  good  one." 

"  Suppose  you  let  me  judge  of  that." 

"  It  would  involve  a  long  story,"  said  Katha- 
rine, "  and  that,  I  fear,  would  tire  you." 

"  What,  with  a  day's  journey  before  us,  and 
not  even  a  novel  to  read  !  My  dear  Miss  Tresh- 
arn,  what  are  you  thinking  of?  If  you  have  a 
itory,  and  if  you  would  not  object  to  telling  it, 
there  is  nothing  I  should  like  better  than  listen- 
ing to  it,  especially  if  there  were  any  good  end 
to  be  gained  by  doing  so." 

"  There  is  no  good  end  to  be  gained,"  said 
Katharine,  "  but,  since  I  accept  your  hospitality, 
I  certainly  owe  it  to  you  to  be  quite  frank  about 
myself.  I  don't  know  what  mav  or  may  not  be 
said  about  me  in  Lagrange,  Miss  Vernon ;  but, 
having  so  generously  extended  your  hand  to  me, 
it  is  only  right  that  you  should  be  able  to  judge 
intelligently  of  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  any  re- 
ports which  may  be  afloat." 

"  Miss  Tresham,  if  those  are  your  reasons 
for  telling  your  story,  let  me  assure  you  that  you 
need  not  do  BO.  I  rarely  hear  gossip,  and  I  never 
believe  it." 

"  Nevertheless,  it  exists ;  it  is  heard  by  every- 
body, and  believed  by  the  vast  majority.  Mrs. 
Raynor  may  like  some  explanation  of — " 

"  I  can  answer  for  Flora,  that  she  will  not 
dream  of  such  a  thing." 

"  At  all  events,  you  must  allow  me  to  speak," 
said  Katharine,  smiling  faintly.  "  For  once  in  my 
life  I  have  been  betrayed  by  cowardly  folly  into 


that  tangled  web  which  deception  in  any  form  ia 
sure  to  weave.  The  sooner  I  can  clear  myself 
of  It,  the  sooner  I  may  be  able  to  forgive  myself 
for  having  fallen  into  it.  Shall  I  begin  at  th« 
beginning,  and  tell  you  a  tolerably  long  story  ?  " 

"  If  you  insist,  I  can  only  be  frank,  and  say 
that  I  should  like  nothing  better." 

So,  as  the  carriage  rolled  along  the  pleasant 
country-road,  with  a  changing  panorama  of  sunny 
landscape  all  around,  drifting  clouds  throwing 
sudden  shadows  over  distant  hill-sides,  green 
valleys  on  either  side,  orchards  in  the  full  glory 
of  tinted  bloom,  and  dogs  rushing  out  to  bark 
from  every  way-side  house,  Katharine  told  the 
story  of  her  life,  in  all  its  details,  to  a  very  sym- 
pathizing listener. 

These  two  advanced  nearer  toward  friendship 
during  this  day  than  in  all  the  days  of  their  for- 
mer acquaintance.  For  it  is  with  friendship  as 
with  love — to  be  perfect,  it  has  two  requisites, 
congeniality  and  confidence.  Without  the  for- 
mer, it  is  a  merely  fictitious  sentiment ;  and, 
without  the  latter,  it  is  a  sentiment  dwarfed  at 
best,  and  restrained.  Confidence  is  a  golden  key 
to  almost  every  heart,  and  certainly  a  golden  link 
to  every  affection,  let  its  form  or  degree  be  what 
it  will. 

Says  Miss  Thackeray,  very  sweetly  and  truly : 
"  If  love  is  the  faith,  then  friendship  is  the  char- 
ity of  life." 

And  so  these  two  women  were  to  find  it. 
Neither  of  them  was  an  ordinary  woman  ;  both 
of  them  had  much  of  the  rare  sweetness  that  is 
born  of  strength,  and  in  which  a  frivolous  or 
petty  nature  is  invariably  lacking ;  and  both  of 
them  had  felt  at  different  times,  and  in  a  different 
manner,  the  need  of  a  friend. 

There  had  been  a  certain  attraction  between 
them  from  the  first ;  but  they  were  not  quick  to 
come  together.  Both  of  them  had  seen  too  much 
of  the  world  for  this.  When  at  last  the  league 
of  friendship— a  league  which  was  to  last  all 
the  rest  of  their  lives — was  struck,  they  made 
no  protestations  to  that  effect.  It  was  under- 
stood somehow,  and  none  the  less  felt  and  re- 
spec^ed  because  it  was  tacit. 

"  Now,"  said  Katharine,  when  she  had  fin. 
ished,  "  you  will  do  me  a  great  favor  if  you  wilJ 
tell  as  much  or  as  little  of  this  to  your  sister  as 
she  requires  to  know  or  as  you  think  fit.  Re- 
member that  I  leave  the  matter  entirely  to  your 
discretion." 

"  My  discretion,  then,  will  be  likely  to  leave 
Flora  very  much  in  the  dark,"  answered  Irene, 
smiling.  "  It  is  better  to  err  on  the  side  of  tell 


GOOD   SAMARITANS. 


229 


tag  too  little  than  of  telling  too  much,  you  know 
• — at  least  there  is  a  remedy  for  the  first,  but  no 
remedy  has  ever  been  devised  for  the  second.  I 
shall  tell  her  just  as  little  as  she  will  be  satisfied 
to  hear,  Miss  Tresham." 

Judging  from  her  experience  of  human  na- 
ture in  general,  and  the  feminine  nature  in  par- 
ticular, Katharine  was  inclined  to  think  that 
this  would  not  be  very  little ;  but  she  thanked 
Miss  Vernon  for  her  discreet  intentions,  and  it 
was  decided  that  Mrs.  Raynor's  curiosity  was, 
if  possible,  to  be  left  ungratified. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day,  many 
familiar  signs  began  to  show  that  they  were  ap- 
proaching the  bourn  of  their  journey — familiar 
Lagrange  scenery  around,  familiar  Lagrange 
faces  on  the  road. 

Miss  Vernon  saw  that  Katharine  was  grow- 
ing nervous,  and  tried  to  reassure  her. 

"  It  is  very  absurd  that  you  should  persist  in 
making  bugbears  of  two  of  the  most  inoffensive 
people  in  the  world,"  she  said.  "  Miss  Tresham, 
do  you  think  I  would  have  asked  you  to  come 
with  me,  if  I  had  not  been  able  to  promise  you  a 
cordial  welcome  ?  " 

Katharine  acknowledged  the  truth  of  this,  and 
much  more  like  it ;  but  still  she  was  uncomfort- 
able— as,  in  fact,  it  was  not  remarkable  that  she 
should  have  been. 

It  was  almost  a  relief  when  at  last  the 
dreaded  moment  of  final  arrival  came,  when  the 
carriage  turned  from  the  rnain-road,  entered  a 
wide  gate,  and,  after  half  a  mile  of  trotting  along 
an  avenue  so  full  of  sylvan  beauty  that  it  looked 
as  if  it  might  have  led  into  the  heart  of  a  forest, 
came  to  a  bridge  crossing  a  pretty  creek,  a  smooth 
lawn  sloping  on  all  sides  like  green  velvet,  and 
the  usual  country-house,  with  many  piazzas,  and 
wide,  cool  hall,  where  Mrs.  Raynor  was  standing 
in  the  door  waiting  to  receive  them. 

"  0  Irene,  I  am  delighted  you  have  come  ! " 
she  cried.  "  I  hardly  expected  you  so  soon — in 
fact,  I  did  not  know  whether  or  not  to  expect 
you  at  all. — Miss  Tresham,  I  am  charmed  to  see 
yOU  » — she  looked  a  little  surprised,  nevertheless 
— "  I  am  glad  that  you  are  well  enough  to  travel. 
Irene  wrote  me  an  account  of  your  illness ;  it 
must  have  been  dreadful ! " 

"  I  have  brought  Miss  Tresham  to  stay  with 
us  for  some  time,"  said  Irene,  before  Katharine 
could  answer.  "  She  looks  badly,  does  she  not  ? 
We  must  try  to  bring  back  her  roses  before  we 
let  her  go. — How  is  George  ?  " 

"  Dreadfully  cross,"  answered  George's  wife, 
with  the  most  literal  promptness.  "  The  doctor 


says  he  is  getting  on  very  well,  however";  and, 
indeed,  I  suppose  crossness  is  one  sign  of  it. — 
Miss  Tresham,  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that  you 
are  going  to  stay  with  us.  I  am  only  afraid  you 
will  be  dreadfully  bored.  I  confess  I  am  bored 
myself  nearly  to  death.  Bella  and  Louisa  have 
been  over  continually,  Irene.  They  are  dear 
girls,  you  know ;  but  by  no  means  the  liveliest 
of-  companions." 

"  Where  is  George  ?  "  asked  Irene. 

"  In  his  own  room.  Will  you  go  in  and  see 
him  ?  He  will  like  to  hear  all  the  Apalatka  news. 
I  will  take  Miss  Tresham  up-stairs. — This  way, 
Miss  Tresham.  Dear  me,  how  pale  you  are! 
You  must  lie  down  immediately,  and  take  some 
refreshment.  Do  you  prefer  wine  or  cordial  ?  " 

Katharine's  mind  was  soon  set  at  rest  on  the 
score  of  her  welcome.  Mrs.  Raynor  was  unaffect- 
edly glad  to  see  her — glad  of  any  thing  or  any. 
body  to  break  the  monotony  of  sick-room  nurs- 
ing, for  which  Nature  had  rendered  her  singularly 
unfit. 

"  George  is  so  disagreeably  cross  that  I  ara 
glad  to  get  away  from  him  for  a  little  while,"  she 
said,  as  she  sat  down  in  the  room  into  which 
she  showed  Katharine,  and  plainly  manifested 
her  intention  of  remaining  some  time.  "  I  have 
a  horror  of  sick  men,"  she  went  on;  "they  are 
so  impatient,  and  ten  times  harder  to  manage 
than  sick  women,  or  sick  children  either.  I  am 
so  glad  Irene  has  come  to  relieve  me  a  little.  I 
am  very  glad,  too,  that  she  has  brought  you,  Miss 
Tresham.  I  hope  you  will  not  let  Mrs.  Marks 
deprive  us  of  you  soon." 

"  I  shall  not  return  to  Mrs.  Marks  at  all," 
said  Katharine,  meaning  to  give  an  explanation 
of  her  position  at  once.  But  Mrs.  Raynor  mere- 
ly opened  her  pretty  blue  eyes  a  minute,  and 
then  rambled  on  with  her  own  grievances ;  she 
had  a  habit  of  paying  very  little  attention  to  what 
was  said  to  her,  especially  if  she  chanced  to  be 
interested  by  something  else  at  the  time. 

Miss  Vernon  soon  discovered  that  her  sister's 
curiosity  was  not  at  all  troublesome  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Katharine.  Not  to  give  her  too  much 
credit,  however,  it  must  be  premised  that  this 
would  scarcely  have  been  the  case  if  she  had 
entertained  even  a  suspicion  of  any  thing  un- 
usual in  the  matter.  True,  Lagrange  was  full  of 
gossip  about  Miss  Tresham  and  Mr.  Annesley ; 
but  Mrs.  Raynor  had  been  full  of  her  own  con- 
cerns,  and  had  heard  very  little  of  tKis  gossip. 
Besides,  Katharine  was  certainly  very  "  nice." 
She  herself  had  thought  so,  and  Irene  had  taken 
quite  a  fancy  to  her.  As  Mr.  Raynor  had  onc« 


230 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


remarked,  Irene  did  not  often  take  fancies,  espe- 
cially to  women,  and  when,  by  some  chance,  she 
did  take  them,  it  wan  an  understood  thing  that 
they  were  to  be  humored.  Then,  in  her  present 
desperate  and  doieful  condition,  Mrs.  Raynor  was 
BO  glad  to  see  her  sister  that  there  was  no  doubt 
but  that  she  would  have  welcomed  the  most  dis 
agreeable  person  in  the  world  whom  Irene  might 
have  chosen  to  bring  back  with  her. 

"  I  believe  there  is  a  good  deal  of  talk  ab'-ut 
Miss  Tresham,"  she  said,  indolently ;  "  but,  of 
course,  we  have  no  reason  for  minding  that. 
These  stagnant  Lagrange  people  would  talk 
about  a  straw.  By-the-by  "  (with  some  anima- 
tion), "  Irene,  have  you  any  idea  where  Morton 
Annesley  is  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  have,"  answered  Irene.  "  He  is 
down  in  Apalatka,  staying  with  Mr.  Seymour. 
Why  do  you  ask?  Have  his  good-natured 
friends  been  talking  about  him,  too  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  they  have ;  and,  what  is  more,  I 
fancy  that  Mrs.  Annesley  and  Adela  have  been 
very  uneasy." 

"  Uneasy ! "  repeated  Irene,  with  a  curl  of 
her  scarlet  lip.  "  Pray  what  mischief  did  they 
think  he  was  likely  to  get  into  ?  Surely  he  is  old 
enough  to  manage  his  own  affairs  without  being 
kept  in  leading-strings  by  his  mother  and  sis- 
ter." 

"  They  have  every  disposition  to  keep  him  in 
leading-strings ;  but  I  don't  think  they  succeed 
vary  well,"  answered  Mrs.  Raynor.  "  He  has  a 
will  of  his  own,  notwithstanding  that  he  looks  so 
gentle.  Adela  French  was  here  not  long  ago — 
jnst  before  George  broke  his  leg,  that  is — and, 
although  she  said  nothing  on  the  subject,  I  could 
see  that  she  was  very  uneasy." 

"About  what?" 

"About  the  danger  of  his  marrying  Miss 
Tresham,  I  presume.  For  my  part,  I  never  be- 
lieved that  there  was  any  probability  of  it.  I  al- 
ways felt  sure  that  he  has  entirely  too  much 
sense  for  such  a  thing." 

"  It  would  be  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for 
him,"  said  Miss  Vernon ;  "  and,  I  am  sure,  it  will 
not  be  his  fault  if  he  does  not  succeed  in  doing 
it.  Is  Adela  French  in  Lagrange  yet  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  think  not.  George  has 
kept  me  so  closely  at  home"  (in  an  aggrieved 
tone),  "  that  I  hardly  know  any  thing.  I  will  ask 
Bella  when  she  comes  to-day.  She  may  know, 
and  she  can  tell  you  all  that  people  are  saying 
about  Miss  Tresham." 

"  Thank  you ;  but  I  have  not  the  least  curios- 
ity on  that  score.  I  give  them  credit  for  any 


amount  of  ill-nature,  just  as  much  as  if  I  had 
heard  all  tl  ey  say." 

When  Miss  Raynor  came,  she  proved  fully 
capable  of  retailing  all  the  gossip  of  which  her 
sister-in-law  had  spoken.  Miss  Vernon  listened 
with  a  disdainful  curl  of  the  lip ;  but  still,  she 
did  listen ;  she  felt  that  it  was  necessary  to  know 
exactly  what  was  said  of  Katharine,  in  order  to 
use  to  the  best  advantage  those  discretionary 
powers  which  the  latter  had  given  her.  After 
all,  however,  the  talk  proved  to  be  harmless  and 
indefinite  enough  with  all  its  ill-nature.  La- 
grange  had  known  nothing ;  and,  therefore,  La- 
grange  had  found  it  difficult  to  say  very  much. 
The  chief  hubbub  seemed  to  have  been  raised 
about  poor  Morton  Annesley.  The  kind  friends, 
who  always  know  all  the  particulars  on  these 
occasions,  had  declared,  unhesitatingly,  that  he 
had  "  given  his  mother  the  slip,"  and  eloped  with 
Mrs.  Marks's  missing  governess.  Why  he  should 
have  thought  it  necessary  to  give  his  mother  the 
slip,  or  why — if  he  wished  to  marry  Mrs.  Marks's 
governess — an  elopement  on  either  side  was  re- 
quisite, nobody  was  able  to  say ;  but  circumstan- 
tial evidence  being  strong  against  the  two,  they 
were  formally  condemned  after  the  most  approved 
form  of  popular  justice.  It  was  useless  to  hint 
(as  one  or  two  skeptical  people  did)  that  Mr.  An- 
nesley had  not  left  Lagrange  until  two  weeks  after 
Miss  Tresham's  departure.  That  the  wise  ladiea 
and  gentlemen  concerned  were  ready  to  reply, 
was  by  special  arrangement.  It  was  meant  to 
lull  suspicion,  and  throw  people  off  their  guard. 
No  doubt  Miss  Tresham  had  gone  on  before  to 
some  appointed  rendezvous,  where  Mr.  Annesley 
had  followed  in  due  time,  and  a  marriage  had 
taken  place.  This  point  being  settled  to  the 
satisfaction  of  everybody  but  the  most  stoutly  in- 
credulous, people  became  undecided  whether  Mr. 
Annesley  would  take  his  bride  away  somewhere 
(to  Europe,  probably),  or  whether  he  would  re- 
turn, and,  with  a  high  hand,  "  have  it  out "  with 
his  outraged  family.  Being,  as  usual,  very  stag- 
nant for  subjects  of  interest,  Lagrange  hoped 
much  for  the  latter  event.  Parties  ran  high  on 
the  question.  Would  or  would  not  Mrs.  Annes- 
ley continue  to  live  at  Annesdale  ?  "  Mrs.  An- 
nesley is  a  Christian  woman;  she  will  bear  this 
severe  trial  as  a  Qhristian  woman  should,  and  re- 
main with  her  son,"  said  one  party.  "  Mrs.  An- 
nesley Ts  a  woman  of  spirit  and  self-respect ;  she 
will  certainly  leave  Annesdale,  and  go  to  Mobile 
with  Adela  French,"  said  another  party.  Chorus 
of  both  parties,  "  What  a  sad  pity  for  Mrs.  An 
nesley !  Such  a  charming  person !  Mrs.  Marks'i 


GOOD   SAMARITANS. 


231 


governess  for  a  daughter-in-law !  Only  what  she 
might  have  expected,  however ;  the  idea  of  invit- 
ing such  a  person  to  Annesdale!  Might  have 
known  what  would  follow,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

It  was  not  to  be  doubted  that  Miss  Vernon 
felt  a  considerable  degree  of  malicious  enjoy- 
ment when,  after  a  month  of  uninterrupted  gos- 
sip (to  which  the  only  drawback  had  been  a  de- 
cided and  uncomfortable  dearth  of  material),  the 
news  fell  like  a  thunder-bolt  on  the  county,  that 
she  had  returned  to  her  sisters,  bringing  Miss 
Tresham — who  was  still  Miss  Tresham — with  her. 
At  first  Lagrange  was  incredulous,  then  Lagrange 
was  indignant,  and  finally  Lagrange  stood  on  its 
dignity,  and  said  things  more  scornful  and  slight- 
ing than  agreeable  and  complimentary,  about  the 
governess  who  was  no  longer  a  governess.  Why 
had  she  left  Mrs.  Marks?  Lagrange  was  not 
curious,  by  any  means ;  but  still,  it  wanted  to 
know  that.  Where  had  she  been  all  this  time, 
and  what  was  the  reason  that  Mr.  Annesley  had 
not  yet  made  his  appearance?  Lagrange  did 
not  absolutely  request  people  to  tell  their  story 
to  the  marines,  who  were  foolish  enough  to  make 
statements  about  brain-fever,  and  Colonel  Les- 
ter's, and  no  connection  with  Mr.  Annesley ;  but, 
in  its  secret  heart,  it  did  not  believe  a  word  of 
the  whole  story,  and  waited  grimly  for  what  it 
was  pleased  to  call  the  "  upshot  of  the  matter." 

This  did  not  come  for  some  time,  however. 
Miss  Tresham  remained  quietly  enough  at  the 
Raynors',  and  Mr.  Annesley  still  lingered  in 
Apalatka.  Poor  Morton  !  That  letter  of  Kath- 
arine's, written  the  night  before  her  departure, 
had  dealt  him  such  a  cruel  and  such  a  terribly 
unexpected  blow,  that  he  felt  cowardly  about  go- 
ing back  to  Lagrange,  about  taking  up  again  the 
familiar  life  from  which  so  much  sunshine  had 
gone,  he  thought,  forever.  He  felt  more  inclined 
to  remain  with  Seymour,  to  spend  his  days  stroll- 
ing about  the  woods,  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder, 
and  a  dog  at  his  heels ;  his  nights  in  talking  or 
not  talking  to  Godfrey,  as  he  felt  inclined,  while 
they  both  smoked  countless  cigars.  It  was  a 
dull,  quiescent  sort  of  life,  but  it  suited  his  mood. 
It  was  doubtful  when  or  how  he  would  end  it ; 
and,  all  this  time,  Lagrange  talked  unceasingly, 
and  Mrs.  Annesley's  anxiety  nearly  drove  her  into 
a  fever. 

All  this  time,  too,  Katharine  was  winning  back 
health,  and  strength,  and  bloom,  and  making  her- 
self very  attractive  and  very  necessary  in  the  Ray- 
nor  household.  The  power  to  charm,  the  gift 
of  diffusing  brightness,  was  hers  now  as  much  as 
ever,  and  these  new  friends  began  to  look  a  little 


injured  when  she  talked  of  intended  departure. 
"  Why  can't  you  stay  ? "  Miss  Vernon  would 
ask ;  "  why  need  you  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  pro- 
cure a  situation?  Flora  and  George  are  both 
absolutely  in  love  with  you,  and  both  thank  me 
on  an  average  once  a  day  for  having  brought  you 
here.  I  am  almost  sorry  to  see  Mr.  Warwick 
come ;  I  fear,  every  time,  that  he  may  have  found 
a  place  for  you." 

"  He  is  trying  to  do  so,"  said  Katharine. 
Then  she  added,  gratefully:  "Mr.  Warwick  ia 
very  kind  to  me.  He  is  the  best  friend,  by  far, 
I  ever  had." 

"  One  of  the  best,"  corrected  Irene.  "  I  am 
sure  he  has  no  better  disposition  to  serve  you 
than — than  Mr.  Annesley,  for  instance.  He  has 
better  opportunity,  that  is  all." 

"  Don't  you  think  one  is  apt  to  be  more  grate- 
ful for  realities  than  for  possibilities  ? "  asked 
Katharine,  smiling.  "Not  but  that  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  Mr.  Annesley,"  she  added. 
"  He,  too,  has  been  a  very  kind  friend  to  me." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  see  plainly  that  you  prefer 
Mr.  Warwick." 

"Do  you  mean  that  I  am  more  grateful  to 
him?" 

"  Well,  yes ;  and  that  you  prefer  him.  That 
includes  liking  as  well  as  gratitude,  doesn't  it  ? 
you  are  twice  as  cordial  to  him  as  I  ever  saw  you 
to  Mr.  Annesley." 

"  He  is  different,"  said  Katharine,  blushing  in 
a  manner  which  Miss  Vernon  thought  quite  unac- 
countable. "  I  have  known  him  so  much  longer 
and  so  much  better.  And — and  there  is  no  dan- 
ger of  misconstruction  with  him.  Now,  with  Mr. 
Annesley,  I  felt  as  if  it  was  necessary  to  be  on 
my  guard  all  the  time." 

"  Against  his  vanity,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  how  could  you  think  I  meant  such 
a  thing?  Against  gossiping  tongues,  and  ill- 
natured  comments,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing 
It  must  be  a  very  foolish  woman  who  does  not 
learn  a  little  discretion  from  being  tossed  about 
the  world  as  I  have  been." 

"I  hope  you  will  never  be  tossed  about 
again,"  said  Miss  Vernon.  "  I  wish  you  would 
be  reasonable,  and  let  it  be  over  at  once." 

The  two  ladies  were  sitting  in  a  pretty  morn- 
ing-room, which  opened  on  the  lawn,  while  they 
talked  in  this  manner.  A  soft,  spring  shower 
was  falling  outside,  but  every  thing  looked  very 
bright  and  pretty  within,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  Mr.  Warwick  was  shown  into  the  room. 
They  greeted  him  cordially;  and,  after  the  firs! 
salutations  were  over,  he  turned  to  Katharine. 


232 


MORTON   HOL'SE. 


"  I  flee  jou  are  getting  quite  well,"  he  said. 
M  Are  you  almost  ready  for  work  ?  " 

"I  am  quite  ready,"  she  answered,  eagerly. 
"  Have  you  found  any  thing  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  positively,"  he  answered,  "  but 
I  have  a  strong  hope  of  doing  so  before  very  long. 

Have  you  any  objection  to  going  to  R Couu- 

tyf 

"I  have  not  the  least  idea  where  R 

County  is ;  but  I  have  no  objection  to  going  any- 
where." 

"  How  very  obliging  you  are ! "  said  Mr.  War- 
wick, smiling.  But  Miss  Vernon  gave  a  cry. 

"R County!"  she  said.  "Why,  Mr. 

Warwick,  that  is  so  far  away,  that  we  need 
never  hope  to  see  her  again  if  she  once  goes 
down  there.  Is  it  possible  you  could  not  find  a 
situation  for  her  nearer  Lagrange  ?  " 

"  It  does  not  at  all  matter  that  it  is  so  far 
away,"  said  Katharine,  hastily,  for  she  under- 
stood Mr.  Warwick's  reasons  for  choosing  R 

County  better  than  Miss  Vernon  did.  "  I — I  am 
not  at  all  diffident  about  going  among  strangers," 
she  went  on.  "  Mr.  Warwick,  do  you  really  think 
that  there  is  any  certain  hope  of  a  situation  ?  " 

"  Read  that,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  taking  a  let- 
ter from  his  pocket,  and  giving  it  to  her. 

She  opened  it  eagerly;  and,  while  she  read, 
Miss  Vernon  was  summoned  from  the  room.  A 
little  negro  boy,  whom  Mrs.  Raynor  called  her 
page,  came  in  with  a  message  from  "  Mass 
George"  of  a  very  imperative  nature,  necessi- 
tating her  immediate  attendance  on  that  gentle- 
man. She  went  at  once,  though  it  was  with 
some  reluctance.  "  George  is  spoiled  to  death  ! " 
she  said,  to  Mr.  Warwick.  "  I  have  no  doubt  he 
will  send  a  message  for  you  when  he  knows  you 
are  here.  He  seems  to  think  that  people  exist 
merely  for  the  purpose  of  ministering  to  his 
amusement." 

"  It  is  not  worth  his  while  to  send  for  me," 
said  Mr.  Warwick.  "  I  shall  not  be  here  ten  min- 
utes longer.  Tell  him  that,  if  he  has  any  such 
intentions,  if  you  please,  Miss  Vernon." 

"  I  will,"  she  said,  with  some  malice,  and 
the  door  had  hardly  closed  on  her  when  Kath- 
arine looked  up. 

"  I  like  the  tone  of  this  letter,"  she  said. 
"  You  have  answered  the  questions,  I  pre- 
•ume  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  I  answered  them  yes- 
terday. I  know  Major  Wright  well,"  he  went 
on,  "  and  I  am  sure  you  will  find  a  situation  in 
his  family  pleasant.  I  should  not  have  enter- 
tained his  proposal  otherwise." 


"I  am  sure  of  that,"  she  said,  gratefully. 
"  You  think  of  me  a  great  deal — much  mor« 
than  I  deserve." 

"  Let  me  be  the  judge  of  that,"  said  he. 
"  When  Wright's  next  letter  comes — no  doubt 
empowering  me  to  offer  certain  terms  for  your 
acceptance — you  will  be  ready  to  close  with 
them,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  most  gladly." 

"  You  won't  feel  inclined  to  regret Ihat  R 

County  is  so  far  from  Lagrange  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  ?  The  last  few  months  have 
given  me  very  painful  associations  with  La- 
grange."  Then,  remembering  how  ungracious 
this  sounded,  she  hesitated  and  blushed.  "  You 

will  come  down  to  R sometimes,  will  you 

not  J*"  she  said.  "  There  is  no  one  else  I  shall 
care  to  see." 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  It  has  been 
two  or  three  years  since  I  was  down  there  last, 
hunting  up  evidence  in  a  troublesome  case.  It 
may  be  two  or  three  more  before  I  have  such 
another  matter  on  hand.  Do  you  think  you  will 
remain  with  the  Wrights  that  long  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  she  answered,  a  little  wound- 
ed by  his  tone.  "  '  A  rolling-stone  gathers  no 
moss,'  you  know ;  so  I  shall  endeavor  to  be  a 
stationary  one.  Very  likely,  therefore,  you  will 
find  me  in  the  Wright  household  two  or  three 
years  hence.  If  so,  I  hope  you  will  come  to  see 
inc." 

"  There  is  not  much  doubt  of  my  doing  that," 
said  he.  "  But  I  shall  hope  to  see  you  in  a  home 
of  your  own,  no  longer  a  waif  and  stray  of  For- 
tune, as  you  are  now." 

She  looked  at  him  reproachfully.  It  was 
astonishing  how  they  were  playing  at  cross- 
purposes,  these  two.  He  meant  to  show  her 
that  she  had  no  troublesome  persistence  to  fear 
from  him  ;  while  she  felt  aggrieved  by  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  seemed  to  ignore  much  that  she 
thought  he  might  have  remembered. 

"  You  have  forgotten,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  You  must  have  forgotten  a  great  deal 
before  you  could  say  such  things  to  me.  I  shall 
never  marry,  Mr.  Warwick." 

Mr.  Warwick  shrugged  his  shoulders  a  little 
over  this  positive  declaration. 

"Why  not? 4Mie  asked. 

"  You  know  why  not,"  she  answered.  "  My 
burden  is  heavy  enough  on  myself;  I  will  not 
take  it  to  acy  one  else." 

"  Not  even  if  he  were  willing  to  bear  it  ? '' 

"  No,  a  hundred  times,  no ! " 

"  That  is  foolish,  itiss  Tresham.     You  mmrt 


GOOD   SAMARITANS. 


233 


forgive  me  for  saying  so,  but  it  is  very  foolish. 
Your  brother  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
yourself.  A  man  who  loved  you — a  man  whom 
you  loved — would  never  hesitate  for  such  a  con- 
sideration as  that." 

"  You  should  not  judge  all  men  by  your- 
self," she  said,  smiling  faintly,  yet  very  sweetly. 
"  There  are  very  few  who  are  able  to  sacrifice 
themselves  as  you  have  proved  willing  to  do. 
I — I  never  knew  anybody  before  who  was.*' 

"  Don't  think  that  I  mean  to  reopen  a  sub- 
ject which  was  closed  finally,"  he  said,  "  when  I 
beg  to  correct  you  in  the  use  of  that  word.  '  Sac- 
rifice '  means  something  which  we  do  unwillingly 
for  the  sake  of  another.  Now,  when  I  asked  you 
to  marry  me — don't  start !  I  have  not  the  least 
intention  of  repeating  that  act  of  folly ! — I  was 
making  no  sacrifice  at  all ;  I  was  simply  follow- 
ing  the  instinct  of  human  nature,  and  endeavor- 
ing to  win  for  myself  the  happiness  I  most  de- 
sired. Take  my  word  for  it,  that  this  will  be  the 
case  with  somebody  else  before  long — some- 
body," he  added,  kindly,  "  to  whom  you  may  be 
able  to  give  a  different  answer." 

She  shook  her  head,  but  something — a  most 
unaccountable  something — rose  in  her  throat,  and 
she  could  not  speak. 

He  saw  her  agitation,  and  walked  away,  to 
give  her  time  to  recover  herself. 

"  Poor  girl  1  no  doubt  she  is  afraid  of  an- 
other sentimental  scene  with  a  man  old  enough 
to  be  her  father,"  he  thought,  with  a  strange 
mixture  of  bitterness,  and  amusement,  and  sad- 
ness, as  he  stood  looking  across  the  lawn,  watch- 
ing the  rain  as  it  fell,  and  the  sun  as  it  tried  to 
struggle  through  the  clouds.  After  a  while  he 
turned  round  and  took  up  the  thread  of  conver- 
sation again,  with  a  tolerably  successful  attempt 
at  cheerfulness. 

"  You  have  no  idea  how  anxious  poor  Bessie 
is  to  see  you,"  he  said.  "  It  would  really  be  a 
deed  of  charity  to  give  her  that  pleasure  when 
you  chance  to  be  in  Tallahoma  some  day.  I  am 
sure  you  don't  bear  malice,  or  I  would  not  ask 
such  a  thing." 

"  Bear  malice ! "  repeated  Katharine.  "  What 
an  expression !  Why,  I  am  quite  as  much  at- 
tached to  Mr«.  Marks  and  the  children  as  ever ; 
and  I  really  have  not  been  to  Tallahoma  because 
I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  not  calling  to  see 
them.  Miss  Vernon  asked  me  to  go  with  her 
yesterday,  but  I  declined." 

"You  must  understand  that  Bessie  has  all 
the  time  been  very  anxious  for  you  to  return," 
ke  said.  "  It  was  Marks  who  made  a  fool  of  him- 


self. I  can  see  very  plainly  that  he  is  sorry  for 
it  now.  Perhaps  the  fact  of  Mrs.  Raynor's  august 
protection  may  have  something  to  jjo  with  his 
change  of  sentiment,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

"  It  has  been  for  the  best,"  said  Katharine, 
a  little  sadly.  "  I  cannot  blame  Mr.  Marks  at 
all;  and  I  am  sure  it  is  better  that  I  should 
leave  Lagrange.  I  have  done  little  besides  mis- 
chief  since  I  have  been  here." 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  what 
kind  of  mischief  ? "  asked  Mr.  Warwick,  with 
the  humorous  accent  she  knew  very  well. 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me,"  she  said.  "  I  assure 
you  I  am  serious.  Looking  back,  I  can  trace 
every  thing  to  myself.  If  I  had  not  come  here, 
there  would  have  been  none  of  this  trouble  about 
St.  John  and  Mrs.  Gordon,  or  about  Mr.  Annes- 
ley,  or — or  about  yourself." 

"  And  if  you  had  not  been  born,  you  would 
not  be  living,"  said  he.  "  If  I  laugh  at  you,  it 
is  because  you  deserve  to  be  laughed  at  for  such 
absurdity  !  A  quickness  at  perceiving  the  con- 
nection between  cause  and  effect  is  a  very  good 
thing  in  its  way,  Miss  Tresham,  but  it  is  possible 
to  carry  it  too  far — it  is  possible  to  torment 
one's  self  uselessly  with  past  and  irretrievable 
issues.  No  man  is  wise  enough  to  foresee  the 
to-morrow,  or  how  the  events  of  to-day  may  in- 
fluence it.  If  we  act  with  an  honest  intention 
for  the  best  in  the  present,  it  is  all  that  God  will 
require  of  us.  Nobody  in  the  world  stands 
alone  ;  life  is  a  very  complex  tissue,  and  every 
human  soul  influences  others  directly  or  indirect- 
ly. The  conduct  of  some  one  else  affected  the 
course  of  your  life;  your  conduct,  in  turn, 
affects  the  lives  of  others,  and  HO  on,  ad  infini- 
turn.  If  you  want  to  be  logical,  you  must  go  far 
beyond  yourself." 

"  You  give  me  comfort  as  well  as  teach  me 
logic,"  she  said.  "  Must  you  go  ?  "  (as  he  rose). 
"  Well,  give  my  love  to  Mrs.  Marks,  and  tell  her 
I  will  certainly  come  to  see  her  soon.  Are  tho 
children  nil  well  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  and  eager  for  a  s'ght  of  you.  I 
may  hear  from  Wright  next  week.  If  so,  I  will 
come  and  let  you  know." 

"Thank  you."  She  held  out  her  hanl 
"  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  added,  softly. 

The  tone  of  her  voice,  the  look  in  her  eyes, 
haunted  him  after  he  left  the  room,  after  he  rode 
away,  and  even  after  the  ordinary  distractions  of 
life  began  to  assert  themselves  once  more.  It 
was  with  difficulty  that  he  finally  banished  th« 
intrusive  recollections. 

"I  have   been    a  fool  once,"    he  though^ 


234 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


"  Nothing  shall  induce  me  to  make  a  fool  of 
myself  a  second  time.  I  am  old  enough  to  have 
left  such  absurdities  behind  me." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE     LAST     DEFIANCE. 

"  THE  slow,  sad  hours  that  bring  us  all  things 
ill"  went  by,  slowly  and  sadly  enough;  brought 
little  enough  besides  ill  to  Mrs.  Gordon,  as  the 
days  lengthened,  the  heavens  smiled,  and  earth 
budded,  and  Nature,  wakening  from  her  brief 
winter  sleep,  prepared  for  her  long  summer  carni- 
val. Spring  came,  with  its  soft  airs,  its  sportive 
breezes,  its  glittering  sunshine,  and  bright  flow- 
ers ;  but  no  change  of  season  or  of  weather 
lightened  her  gloom  ;  no  lapse  of  time  softened 
her  sorrow,  or  taught  her  resignation.  Round 
the  old  house  that  had  been  silent  so  long,  and 
at  last  had  come  to  shrine  this  one  lonely  life, 
all  was  rejoicing  beauty;  but  within  its  doors 
there  was  a  hush  that  seemed  to  speak  of  deso- 
lation— a  subtile  and  penetrating  sadness  that 
human  grief  sometimes  seems  to  impress  even 
upon  inanimate  surroundings.  People — the  few 
people  who  ever  came — felt  it  as  soon  as  they 
entered  the  door,  and  left  it  behind  them,  like  a 
weight,  when  they  emerged  again  into  the  fresh 
air  and  bright  sunshine.  Day  after  day  of  stag- 
nant, weary  calm,  rolled  by ;  and  the  pale  wom- 
an, lying  on  her  sofa,  grew  daily  more  pale  and 
more  hollow-eyed.  Who  can  wonder  ?  Trouble, 
suspense,  and  bereavement,  are  grim  phantoms 
which  prove  hard  enough  to  fight  when  the  daily 
cares  of  life — cares  merciful  at  such  a  time — are 
pressing  on  the  heart,  and  giving  at  least  the 
relief  of  partial  distraction  to  the  mind.  But 
trouble,  when  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  brood 
over  it ;  suspense,  when  it  is  only  possible  to  sit 
and  wait  for  the  dreaded  day,  or  the  dreaded  ob- 
ject ;  bereavement,  when  not  one  human  source 
of  consolation  has  been  left ;  oh,  where  is  the 
tongue  or  the  pen  that  can  speak  of  these?  As 
people  who  sit  by  warm  hearths,  and  fpr  whom 
luxurious  tables  are  spread,  shrug  their  shoul- 
ders, and  say,  "  Poor  thing ! "  when  their  sym- 
pathy and  their  attention  are  claimed  by  some 
gaunt,  thinly-clad  form  out  beyond  in  the  night 
and  storm,  so  we  utter  a  few  set  words  of  pity 
and  condolence  .*  hen  a  face,  white  with  the  awful 
footprints  of  despair,  looks  in  on  our  life.  But 
have  we — we,  warmly  clothed,  and  fed,  and  lodged, 
*nd  hedged  about  with  love — even  the  least  con- 


ception of  how  bitterly  the  colil  cuts,  how  heavily 
the  rain  falls,  how  dark  and  full  of  terror  is  the 
night  to  that  poor,  houseless  wanderer?  If  we 
had,  ah,  vain  words  !  even  if  we  had,  what  could 
we  do  ?  The  needs  of  the  body  can  be  supplied, 
the  wants  of  the  body  can  be  filled,  but  who  has 
yet  been  able  to  comfort  the  soul  sick  with  lone- 
ly grief,  or  feed  the  heart  starving  for  absent 
love? 

So  the  days  went  by — one  after  another,  with 
dreary  sameness — and  so  the  woman,  whose  life 
of  fevered  emotion  had  sunk  at  last  into  apathetic 
lethargy,  watched  them,  from  sunrise  to  sunset, 
all  alone.  Sometimes  she  shivered,  as  a  keen 
realization  of  her  position  came  over  her;  as,  in 
a  mirror,  she  saw  herself  sitting  in  the  desolate 
solitude  of  her  father's  house,  waiting  for  the 
man  whom  she  had  once  loved,  and  now  hated ; 
the  man  who  had  wrecked  her  life,  and  made  her 
what  she  was ;  the  man  whom  she  dreaded,  ab- 
horred, yet  longed  to  see  again — longed  to  pour 
out  upon  him  the  bitter  tide  of  reproach,  de- 
fiance, scorn,  and  hate.  Sometimes  she  would 
shrink  and  shiver  at  a  footstep,  thinking,  dread- 
ing that  it  might  be  his;  then,  again,  she  would 
pace  the  floor,  and  clasp  her  hands  together, 
longing  that  he  would  come,  that  the  worst 
might  be  over,  that  the  utmost  which  could  be 
said  might  have  been  said.  But  the  weeks  wore 
on,  and  he  did  not  appear.  John  Warwick  came 
often — as  often  as  possible,  and  as  he  had  news 
from  Felix — and  did  his  honest  best  to  cheer 
and  lighten  the  gloom  which  he  found ;  but  even 
he,  when  he  went  away,  felt  depressed ;  even  he 
felt  how  hopeless  were  any  efforts  to  bring  sun- 
shine where  sunshine  was  not. 

"If  you  only  had  a  companion  !"  he  said,  to 
Mrs.  Gordon,  one  day.  "  Such  a  life  as  this  is 
enough  to  kill  you !  your  own  thoughts  are  tbe 
worst  possible  company;  anybody  or  any  thing 
would  be  better." 

"  And  where  would  you  find  me  a  com- 
panion?" she  asked,  languidly.  "Not  that  I 
would  desire  such  a  thing,  but,  if  I  did,  where 
would  you  find  one  ?  A  companion  !  think  of  all 
that  a  companion  means.  Not  somebody  to  sit 
there  and  distract  me  with  set  looks,  and  com- 
posed manners,  and  talk  about  the  weather  and 
Lagrange  gossip ;  but  somebody  who  would  have 
quickness  enougR  to  read  my  moods,  and  change 
with  them ;  who  would  cheer  at  one  time,  and 
soothe  at  another;  who  would  not  be  too  gay, 
nor  yet  too  dull ;  toward  whom  I  need  feel  no 
reserve,  yet  who  would  not  pry  into  my  heart . 
somebody  who —  Ah,  what  is  the  good  of  talk 


THE   LAST   DEFIANCE. 


235 


Ing  ?    All  this  means  a  friend,  and  where  have  I 
a  friend  ?  " 

"  I  know  where  I  could  find  such  a  person  for 
you,"  he  said.  "  If — if  you  would  only  consent 
to  it." 

She  looked  at  him  a  little  suspiciously. 
"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  mean  Miss  Tresham,"  he  answered.  "  If 
you  would  only  believe — " 

She  interrupted  him,  passionately.  "I  will 
believe  nothing  that  would  bring  her  into  this 
house!  I  don't  trust  her,  Mr.  Warwick;  say 
what  you  will,  I  don't  trust  her !  St.  John's  sis- 
ter cannot  be  other  than  false,  and  you  will  live 
to  find  it  out !  " 

"  I  am  rather  of  the  opinion,"  said  he,  "  that 
you  and  some  other  people  will  live  to  find  out 
that  it  is  neither  just  nor  reasonable  to  condenjn 
one  person  for  the  faults  and  crimes  of  another, 
no  matter  how  nearly  related  that  other  may 
be." 

"  And  you  trust  her  ?  Trust  anybody  with 
that  blood  ?  " 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Mrs.  Gordon  ;  consider  how 
little  you  know  of  the  blood,  or  are  able  to  judge 
of  it  from  one  representative.  It  is  impossible 
for  you  to  tell  how  many  brave  and  noble  an- 
cestors this  very  St.  John  may  have  had,  ances- 
tors whose  blood  has  made  his  sister  what  she 
ta." 

"  She  is  his  sister ! " 

"That  settles  the  matter,  I  see,"  said  he, 
slightly  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  Well,  per- 
haps you  may  be  glad  to  hear  that  this  dangerous 
person  will  soon  be  removed  from  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Morton  House.  I  received  a  letter  to- 
day from  an  old  friend  of  mine  in  one  of  the 
lower  counties,  offering  Miss  Tresham  the  posi- 
tion of  governess  in  his  family.  She  has  re- 
quested me  to  accept  it  for  her,  and  to  say  that 
she  will  leave  Lagrange  in  a  few  days.  I  am  go- 
ing home  to  write  that  letter  now." 

"  Does  your  friend  live  near  Felix  ?  " 

"  No ;  very  far  from  Felix.  Surely,  after  all 
that  I  have  told  yon,  you  do  not  cling  to  that 
idea  yet  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  an  instinct  with  me  from  the 
first  One  cannot  disregard  instincts." 

•'  Yes,  one  can,  especially  when  they  are  con- 
trary to  reason  and  common-sense.  You  see  I 
talk  plainly  to  you.  On  my  honor,  I  think  you 
need  it.  Have  you  seen  Annesley  since  he  re- 
turned ?  " 

"  He  was  here  yesterday.  He  tells  me  that 
this  girl  has  finally  rejected  him." 


"  And  will  not  even  that  fact  alter  your  judg. 
ment  of  her  a  little  ?  " 

She  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "Why 
should  it  ?  No  doubt  she  would  have  married 
him  if  she  had  dared  to  do  so ;  that  is,  if  she 
had  not  known  that  his  family  would  never  recog- 
nize her." 

"  Morton  is  tolerably  independent  of  his  fam. 
ily,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  dryly.  "  If  Miss  Tresh- 
am had  married  him,  no  doubt  they  would  have 
found  it  tiresome  to  stay  away  from  Annesdale 
because  his  wife  was  mistress  there  ;  and  that  is 
all  that  their  not  recognizing  her  would  have  come 
to,  you  know.  Well,  the  afternoon  is  wearing 
on,  and  I  must  leave  you.  Don't  you  ever  go 
out  to  get  a  little  fresh  air  ?  " 

"  Scarcely  ever,"  she  answered,  languidly,  giv- 
ing him  her  hand  as  he  rose  to  take  leave. 

After  he  went  out,  he  carried  a  dreary  pic- 
ture back  to  town  with  him — the  room,  which 
looked  dark  and  confined,  as  any  room  will  look 
on  a  day  when  Nature  is  taking  one  of  her  royal 
holidays ;  the  sofa,  with  its  cushions,  and  the 
pale,  thin  face  pillowed  thereon ;  the  relaxed 
form ;  the  sad  eyes  ;  the  books,  tossed  aside  in 
utter  weariness  !  He  seemed  to  see  it  all  as  he 
rode  along,  with  the  lovely  day  around  him ;  and 
he  could  not  help  saying  over  and  over  again, 
"  Poor  woman  !  " 

The  poor  woman,  who  well  deserved  his  com- 
passion, lay,  meanwhile,  where  he  ha  1  left  her, 
watching  dreamily  the  shadows  lengthening  on 
the  stretch  of  emerald  sward  beyond  her  window, 
the  fruit-trees  looking  like  pink-and- white  clouds 
in  an  orchard  far  away,  and  the  golden  afternoon, 
with  all  its  spring-time  wealth  of  sight  and  sound, 
drawing  toward  sunset.  Sunset,  however,  had  not 
yet  come  when  she  fell  into  a  light  sleep,  her 
face  still  turned  to  the  window,  and  the  soft 
breeze  playing  gently  over  it.  Something  of 
peace,  something  even  of  beauty,  came  to  her  as 
she  slept,  as  we  see  it  often  come  to  world-worn 
faces  when  the  stillness  of  this  mimic  death  sti'.-ils 
over  them,  winning  back  a  little  of  the  lost  grace 
of  youth  to  the  heavy,  deep-set  lines  of  age  or 
care 

She  had  not  slept  more  than  half  an  hour 
when  the  stillness  around  her  was  broken,  slight- 
ly  broken  by  a  step  on  the  sward  that  sloped  sc 
gently  from  the  window  before  which  her  sofa 
was  place*}.  The  sound  was  so  slight  that  it  did 
not  rouse  her,  and  she  still  remained  unconscious 
— still  slept  with  a  faint,  sweet  smile  on  her  lip 
— when  a  shadow  fell  across  the  floor,  a  figure 
Jrew  near  the  window,  and  a  man,  pushing  back 


236 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


the  gently-swaying  curtains,  stepped  into  the 
room. 

Not  Mr.  Warwick,  not  Annesley,  not  even  St. 
John,  but  a  stranger,  who  steps  into  this  history, 
as  he  stepped  into  that  room,  for  the  first  time — 
a  tall,  handsome  man,  with  an  air  at  once  un- 
mistakable and  indescribable,  which  only  much 
intercourse  with  the  world  confers,  with  a  bear- 
ing of  marked  distinction,  and  with  a  look  of 
youth — despite  certain  significant  lines  that  told 
of  the  wear  and  tear  of  reckless  years  and  more 
reckless  passions — in  singular  contrast  to  that 
pale,  faded  woman  on  the  sofa.  Evidently,  he 
had  walked  round  the  house,  and  entered  the 
first  window  which  he  found  open.  Evidently, 
also,  he  had  not  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sleep- 
ing figure  before  he  made  his  unceremonious 
appearance.  He  started  when  he  saw  it,  drew 
back  a  step,  then  smiled  a  little,  and  came  for- 
ward. 

At  the  same  moment,  Mrs.  Gordon  woke — 
woke  suddenly,  with  a  wild  start.  In  recalling 
the  scene  afterward,  she  remembered  that,  in  the 
midst  of  a  happy  dream  about  Felix,  her  heart 
seemed,  without  any  warning,  to  give  a  great 
bound,  and  with  a  terror  which  she  did  not 
understand  she  sprung  to  a  sitting  posture,  and, 
half  sleeping,  half  waking — was  it  dream  or  real- 
ity ? — saw  before  her  the  face  that  had  haunted 
her  last  waking  thoughts. 

She  gave  a  low,  inarticulate  cry,  then  clasped 
both  hands  to  her  heart,  and  kept  them  there, 
striving  vainly  to  Rtill  the  passionate  throbs  that 
made  speech  impossible.  She  had  expected  him, 
looked  for  him ;  sometimes,  in  a  strange,  wild 
way,  longed  for  him;  yet,  now  that  he  was  be- 
fore her,  the  realization  of  it  turned  her  faint. 
She  could  say  nothing ;  her  lips  seemed  parched ; 
her  tongue  refused  to  speak  ;  it  almost  seemed 
as  if  she  was  still  asleep  ;  and  yet  she  knew  that 
she  was  awake,  and  that  her  husband  was  before 
her. 

"  I  have  come,  Pauline,"  he  said,  coolly.  "  I 
suppose,  of  course,  you  expected  me.  You  have 
acted  like — well,  like  a  foolish  woman ;  but  I 
presume  you  knew  that  I  would  come." 

All  the  past  rushed  back  over  her  in  the  first 
tone  of  that  cold,  careless  voice — all  the  memo- 
ries, how  bitter,  how  stinging,  none  but  she 
could  tell !  Rage,  scorn,  defiance,  hate — where 
were  they  all  ?  Only  an  overwhelming  horror 
came  to  her,  as  in  these  words  he  asserted  his 
claim  over  her — this  man  who  was  her  husband, 
and  the  murderer  of  her  brother,  yet  who  stood 
there  under  her  father's  roof ! 


I  "  How  did  you  come  here  ?  "  she  demanded, 
haughtily.  "  This  is  my  father's  house,  a  house 
only  fit  for  honorable  men.  My  servants  long 
ago  received  orders  not  to  admit  you." 

"  I  gave  you  credit  for  that  measure  of  pre- 
caution," he  answered,  in  the  same  coldly-care- 
less manner,  a  manner  on  which  it  was  evident 
that  St.  John  had  modelled  his  own,  and  which, 
therefore,  possessed  all  the  advantage  that  an 
original  possesses  over  a  copy.  "  I  did  not 
trouble  your  servants  to  admit  me,"  he  went  on. 
"  The  front  of  the  house  was  entirely  deserted. 
I  walked  around  until  I  came  to  this  window. 
Seeing  it  open,  I  entered." 

"  It  is  still  open,"  she  said.  "  If  you  do  not 
leave  the  room  instantly,  I  shall  do  so  myself.  I 
am  determined  never  to  see  or  speak  to  you  again. 
If  there  is  any  thing  that  you  wish  to  say  to  me, 
any  arrangement  that  you  wish  to  make  with  me, 
I  refer  you  to  my  lawyer." 

He  only  answered  by  walking  across  the 
room,  and  closing  the  door.  Then,  coming 
back,  he  placed  a  chair  so  as  to  intercept  any 
possible  retreat  on  her  part,  and  quietly  sat 
down. 

"All  this  is  folly,"  he  said,  with  uhtnoved 
composure.  "I  thought  you  knew  me  well 
enough  to  be  aware  how  worse  than  useless 
such  a  tone  as  this  is.  You  seem  to  forget — or 
I  suppose  you  really  do  not  know — that  I  am 
the  injured  person  in  this  freak  of  yours.  Your 
conduct,  from  first  to  last,  has  not  a  single  ex- 
cuse, not  a  single  palliation.  I  directed  you  to 
go  to  Scotland,  and  you  deliberately  came  to 
America,  thereby  robbing  me  of  Felix,  and  en- 
deavoring to  conceal  yourself  from  me.  It  was 
a  woman's  idea,"  he  said,  with  contemptuous 
amusement,  "  and  has  had  the  success  that 
might  naturally  have  been  expected." 

"  You  mean  that  you  have  found  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  mean  that  I  have  found  you,  and  that 
I  am  lenient  enough  to  give  you  your  choice 
whether  you  will  return  to  Scotland  with  me,  or 
whether  I  shall  leave  you  in  the  seclusion  you 
have  chosen,  and  simply  take  Felix." 

The  tone  of  subdued  but  unmistakable  malice 
with  which  he  spoke  the  last  words  roused  Mrs. 
Gordon  like  the  blast  of  a  trumpet.  Suddenly, 
the  remembrance  came  to  her  that  she  was  not, 
as  heretofore,  helplessly  in  his  power.  It  was 
evident  that  he  thought  to  bend  her  to  his  will 
through  her  fears  for  Felix  ;  yet  Felix  was  safe, 
was  far  away,  was  where  this  man  could  not  pos- 
sibly seek  or  find  him.  The  sweetness  of  that 
one  moment  repaid  her  for  all  the  months  of 


THE   LAST   DEFIANCE. 


desolate  sorrow  she  had  endured.  Watching 
her  face,  her  husband  was  startled  by  the  change 
that  came  over  it — the  sudden  glow  that  seemed 
to  light  up  the  sunken  eyes  and  the  pallid  fea- 
tures into  something  of  their  old  beauty. 

"  I  decline  to  make  any  choice,"  she  said. 
"I  have  already  told  you  that  I  refer  you  to 
my  lawyer  for  any  thing  you  wish  to  say  to 
me.  However  long  you  may  choose  to  detain 
me,  you  will  obtain  nothing  further  from 
me." 

With  something  like  a  mocking  smile,  he 
leaned  forward,  and  laid  his  hand  on  a  bell- 
rope  that  hung  against  the  wall,  just  at  the 
head  of  her  sofa. 

"  I  will  ring  for  Felix,  then,"  he  said.  "  It 
will  save  time  and  trouble  if  I  take  him  away 
with  me  at  once." 

"You  can  ring  if  you  choose,"  answered 
Mrs.  Gordon ;  "  but  you  will  not  find  Felix.  Do 
you  suppose  I  should  have  sat  here  quietly  if 
there  had  been  any  danger  of  your  finding 
him  ?  "  she  asked,  scornfully.  "  I  should  have 
defied  you  to  keep  me  !  But,  thank  God,  Felix 
is  safe !  Three  months  ago,  I  knew  that  you 
would  be  here,  for  your  miserable  instrument 
appeared  before  you,  and  I  sent  the  child  away. 
It  was  like  tearing  the  very  heart  out  of  my 
breast ;  but  I  did  it,  and  now  I  am  repaid." 

"  You — you  dared  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  dared  to  do  it." 

It  was  well  that  she  came  of  that  brave 
Morton  blood  which  had  never  been  known  to 
quail  at  danger  in  any  shape,  for  there  was 
that  in  the  baffled  face  looking  at  her  which 
might  have  startled  the  firmest  nerves.  All 
his  cold  smoothness  of  manner  gave  way,  as 
she  had  before  seen  it  give  way  on  a  few  mem- 
orable occasions,  and  the  savage  of  the  man's 
nature  stood  out  clear,  and  dark,  and  unutter- 
ably repulsive.  He  was  silent  for  a  moment. 
In  that  moment  the  veins  rose  like  cords  on 
his  forehead,  and  his  eyes  glittered  as  eyes  only 
glitter  in  passion  that,  for  violence,  is  next  to 
insanity.  When  he  spoke — well,  it  is  scarcely 
worth  while  to  transcribe  such  scenes  as  these. 
Who  cares  to  write,  who  cares  to  read,  who  cares 
to  dwell  upon  them  ?  Fortunately  for  Mrs.  Gor- 
don, she  had  served  her  apprenticeship  of  en- 
durance ;  and  the  knowledge  of  years  is  not 
readily  forgotten  in  a  few  months.  Besides, 
she  was  fired  with  new  spirit.  One  of  those 
moods  in  which  she  had  longed  for  him  to 
come,  that  she  might  pour  out  her  hate  and 
scorn,  rushed  over  her.  She  gathered  all  her 
16 


old  haughty  strength  and  pride,  and  faced  him 
— once,  at  least — on  equal  ground. 

"  I  defy  you ! "  she  said,  after  he  had  sworn 
a  bitter  oath  to  make  her  repent.  "  You  have 
done  your  worst  and  your  last.  You  have 
wrecked  my  life,  you  have  murdered  my  broth- 
er, you  have  insulted  and  injured  me  in  every 
possible  way.  There  is  only  one  more  channel 
through  which  you  can  strike  me  —  that  is, 
Felix;  and  Felix  you  will  never  see  again,  even 
if  the  price  I  must  pay  for  it  is  the  price  of 
never  seeing  him  myself!  Once  more  I  repeat 
that  I  am  safe — that  I  defy  you." 

It  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  repeat  the 
last  words  too  often.  Their  very  sound  in  her 
ears  was  as  the  echo  of  music,  and,  when  she 
uttered  them,  she  looked  like  another  woman 
— like  a  vision  of  the  regal  beauty  who,  long 
years  before,  had  gone  forth  from  this  very 
house,  and  who  now  faced  the  direct  result  of 
her  own  wilful  folly.  Gordon  could  scarcely 
believe  that  it  was  his  wife  who  spoke  to  him. 
Not  on  account  of  her  fiery  spirit — he  knew  that 
well  enough  of  old — but  at  sight  of  the  trans- 
forming power  which  excitement  had  over  her, 
and  which  seemed  to  kindle  the  dead  light  in 
her  eyes,  and  bring  back  the  dead  roses  to  her 
cheeks.  He  had  hardly  ever  been  wrought  tt 
such  a  pitch  of  fury  against  her,  yet,  again,  h« 
had  hardly  ever  been  forced  to  such  a  degree 
of  reluctant  admiration.  He  made  a  quick  step 
forward,  and  caught  her  arm. 

"  The  devil  is  surely  tempting  you  to  your 
own  ruin,"  he  said,  bitterly.  "  Have  all  the 
years  we  lived  together  taught  you  no  better 
than  this  ?  Have  you  not  learned  yet  that 
there  are  no  possible  circumstances  which  could 
make  it  safe  for  you  to  defy  me  ?  You  had  bet- 
ter stop  a  moment  and  think — you  don't  know 
what  you  are  doing !  " 

"  I  know  perfectly  well  what  I  am  doing," 
she  answered.  "  I  am  trying  to  save  Felix — and, 
with  God's  help,  I  will  save  him — from  you,  and 
what  you  would  make  of  him." 

"  And  do  you  really  think  that  you  have  con- 
cealed Felix  so  effectually  that  I,  with  unlimited 
means  at  command,  cannot  find  him  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

He  read  her  face  keenly,  and,  being  well 
skilled  in  physiognomy,  saw  that  she  spoke 
from  no  mere  bravado — no  mere  attempt  to 
simulate  confidence  in  order  to  deceive  him. 
From  some  cause,  of  which  he  knew  nothing, 
she  was  sure,  she  was  perfectly  secure,  thai 
the  child  was  placed  beyond  his  reach. 


138 


MORTON  HOUSE. 


"  No  doubt  you  were  confident  of  being  safe 
when  you  came  here,"  he  said,  with  the  mocking 
smile  which  she  knew  so  well.  "  Can't  the  fail- 
ure of  one  attempt  teach  you  wisdom  with  re- 
gard to  another  ?  But  that  is  a  foolish  question, 
women  never  learn  wisdom,  especially  women 
like  you.  I  see  one  thing,  however,  that  you 
have  not  arranged  and  carried  out  this  precious 
scheme  alone.  You  have  had  assistance.  Ah  ! " 
— as  she  changed  color  a  little — "  I  knew  it ! 
Well,  that  makes  matters  a  trifle  easier  than 
they  would  have  been  otherwise.  I  can  find 
your  instrument,  and,  having  found  him,  you 
know  me  well  enough  to  be  aware — " 

"  I  know  him  well  enough  to  be  aware  that 
your  threats  are  useless,"  she  interrupted.  "  You 
will  gain  nothing  from  him.  He  is  not  a  man 
whom  you  can  either  bribe  or  intimidate.  I 
sent  you  a  warning  once,"  she  went  on,  excited- 
ly. "  I  don't  know  whether  you  ever  received 
it ;  but  if  so,  you  would  do  well  to  heed  it — you 
would  do  well  to  remember  that  I  am  here  in 
the  midst  of  my  friends,  and  that  to  attempt  to 
harm  me  further  is  only  a  certain  means  of 
harming  yourself.  I  am  no  longer  in  a  foreign 
country,  and  helplessly  at  your  mercy.  I  am  at 
home,  and  you — if  you  only  knew  it — are  at  my 
mercy  I " 

"I  suppose  you  mean  that  some  of  your 
highly-civilized  kinsmen  and  friends  would  be 
ready  to  shoot  or  stab  me  at  your  bidding,"  he 
said,  carelessly.  "  For  that  I  have  only  one  an- 
swer— by  all  means  let  them  try.  How  much  you 
must  have  forgotten,  before  you  thought  it  worth 
your  while  to  take  a  tone  like  this." 

"  I  have  said  all  that  I  shall  think  of  say- 
ing," she  answered,  coldly.  "It  is  for  you  to 
heed  or  not,  as  you  think  fit.  Once  more,  will 
you  go  ?  I  have  defied — I  do  defy  you — to  do 
your  worst.  There  is  nothing  to  add  to  that." 

"  Yes,  there  is  something,"  he  said.  "  Not 
on  your  side,  perhaps,  but  on  mine.  I  will  inflict 
my  presence  upon  you  long  enough  to  add  it." 

He  had  loosed  his  grasp  of  her  arm  by  this 
time,  and  he  now  sat  down  again  in  the  chair 
from  which  he  had  risen.  His  change  of  man- 
ner warned  her  that  something  worse  than  what 
had  gone  before,  was  yet  to  come.  She  tried  to 
conjecture  what  it  could  be;  but  a  dizziness 
•eized  her,  and  she  could  think  of  nothing. 
Felix!  Fjlix  I  That  was  the  only  thought  which 
rang  through  her  brain.  He  could  not  touch 
him.  She  was  sure  of  that.  What  did  any  thing 
else  matter  ?  With  a  great  parting  flash  of  glory, 
the  sun  went  down ;  the  whole  sky  was  glowing 


with  the  lovely  reflection  of  the  incarnadine  west, 
melting  into  softest  rose-colors,  and  violets,  and 
blues,  when  he  began  to  speak. 

"  I  gave  you  your  choice  when  I  first  came 
in,  to  return  to  Scotland  with  me,  or  to  resign 
the  child  to  whom  the  law  gives  you  no  claim. 
Considering  the  defiance  of  my  authority,  which 
has  been  your  only  reply,  I  might  reasonably  re- 
tract that  oifer.  But,  as  it  is,  I  give  it  to  you 
once  more,  and  for  the  last  time.  Stop  !  " — lift- 
ing  his  hand  when  he  saw  that  she  was  about 
to  speak — "  you  must  understand  fully,  as  you 
do  not  understand  now,  the  alternative  that  is 
placed  before  you.  In  the  first  place,  I  am  sure 
that  it  is  in  my  power  to  find  Felix — if  you  con- 
sidered  a  moment,  you  would  be  sure  of  this 
too.  But  to  do  so  will  cost  both  time  and  trou- 
ble, neither  of  which  I  desire  to  expend.  I  shall 
expend  them,  if  necessary,"  he  said,  with  ener- 
gy ;  "  but  I  am  willing  to  make  a  compromise 
to  effect  his  recovery  without  them.  I  shall  not 
speak  to  you  of  your  duty,  nor  of  the  false  and 
groundless  charges  that  you  make  against  me 
in  the  matter  of  your  brother's  unfortunate 
death—" 

"  If  you  are  wise,  you  will  leave  that  name 
unspoken,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  came  with 
something  like  a  hiss  through  her  teeth — teeth 
set  to  keep  back  the  fierce  tide  of  emotion  that 
struggled  for  expression.  "  If  you  utter  it  again 
— here,  under  this  roof — I  think  I  could  almost 
find  strength  to  murder  you,  as  you  murdered 
him !  Say  what  you  have  to  say  while  I  am  able 
to  control  myself  sufficiently  to  listen  to  you.  It 
is  the  last  time  that  I  shall  ever  see  you,  or  hear 
your  voice." 

"You  forget  that  you  are  my  wife,  and  entire- 
ly in  my  power." 

"I  am  your  wife — God  help  me! — but  I  am 
not  in  your  power,  nor  ever  will  be  again." 

"  We  shall  see  about  that,"  he  said,  smiling 
again.  "  I  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  when  you 
interrupted  me,  that  I  shall  not  speak  to  you  of 
your  duty,  but  of  your  interest.  If  you  consent 
to  produce  Felix,  I  will  allow  you  to  accompany 
him  back  to  Scotland.  If  you  refuse,  I  will  find 
him  myself,  and  in  that  case  I  shall  take  him 
alone.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

''I  understand." 

"  And  refuse  ?  " 

"  And  refuse." 

"  Very  well.  That  point  is  settled — irrevo- 
cably. We  will  not  return  to  it  again.  Now  I 
give  you  another  alternative — either  you  will 
produce  Felix,  or  you  will  alienate  from  liim,  by 


THE   LAST   DEFIANCE. 


239 


your  own  act,  the  inheritance  which  would  natur- 
ally be  his.  I  swear  to  you  solemnly — and  you 
know  whether  or  not  I  am  likely  to  keep  my 
oath — that  unless  he  is  resigned  to  my  guardian- 
ship, he  shall  never  inherit  a  "fragment  or  a  pit- 
tance of  the  Gordon  estate." 

"  You  are  counting  too  much  on  my  igno- 
rance, when  you  make  such  threats,"  she  said, 
haughtily.  "  I  chance  to  know  that  you  are  un- 
able to  fulfil  them — I  chance  to  know  that  your 
uncle's  estate  is  entailed  upon  your  son,  and  that 
you  are  powerless  to  alienate  it  from  him." 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said,  with  a  flash  of  tri- 
umph in  his  eye.  "  It  is  entailed  upon  my  son, 
but  upon  my  eldest  sow." 

"  Well  ?  " 

Something  like  a  dim  foreboding  of  the  truth 
began  to  dawn  upon  her.  The  excitement  died 
>ut  of  her  face,  she  turned  white  to  her  very 
lips,  and  leaned  back  against  the  cushions  of  the 
sofa. 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  coolly,  "  Felix  is  not  ,my 
eldest  son.  For  reasons  that  will  be  apparent  to 
you  hereafter,  I  have  preferred  and  do  prefer  him 
as  an  heir.  But  he  is  not  the  legal  inheritor  of 
the  estate.  It  depends  upon  you  whether  or  not 
he  will  ever  own  an  acre  or  touch  a  penny  of 
it." 

"  Upon  me ! "  A  gathering  mist  seemed  clos- 
ing round  her;  but  she  fought  it  bravely — she 
struggled  desperately  against  the  rising  faint- 
ness  that  threatened  to  sweep  away  all  powers 
of  combat.  One  thought  only  gave  her  strength 
— Felix's  rights !  They  were  assailed — falsely, 
unscrupulously,  assailed,  she  was  sure — and  she 
was  their  only  defender. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you !  "  she  cried  out,  pas- 
sionately. "Why  should  I?  You  have  never 
failed  to  deceive  me  when  you  could  do  so  with 
any  advantage  to  yourself.  Why  should  I  be- 
lieve any  thing  so  stamped  with  falsehood  as 
this  ?  " 

"  Believe  it  or  not,  as  you  please,"  he  an- 
swered. "  It  is  a  matter,  fortunately,  which  ad- 
mits of  proof." 

"  You  can  prove  that  Felix  is  not  your  eldest 
•on  ?  " 

"  I  can  prove  a  former  marriage  when  I  was 
quite  a  boy,  and  the  existence  of  a  legal  heir  to 
the  Gordon  estate  in  the  person  of  my  son  by 
that  marriage." 

"He  is  living?" 

"  Yes,  he  is  living.  I  can  put  my  hand  on 
him  whenever  I  choose.  You  need  not  look  so 
incredulous,"  he  said,  as  he  saw  her  eyes  grow 


larger  and  larger,  her  face  whiter  and  whiter. 
"  As  I  have  said,  it  is  a  case  in  which  assertion 
can  have  no  weight ;  it  is  capable  of  proof  that 
can,  if  necessary,  be  taken  into  a  court  of  law. 
Perhaps  you  may  be  convinced  if  I  give  you  a 
short  statement  of  the  matter  ?  " 

She  made  a  gesture,  signifying  assent ;  and 
yet  it  was  hardly  necessary.  Something  in  hit 
manner  —  something  in  his  tone  —  above  all, 
something  in  his  fuce  (and  she  knew  that  face 
well) — told  her  that  he  was  speaking  truth,  and 
not  merely  a  cunning  falsehood  devised  to  an- 
noy and  intimidate  her.  Every  thing  had  seemed 
so  plain  to  her  a  minute  before,  and  now  all  was 
confusion.  Felix  !  Felix's  rights  !  What  were 
they  ?  where  were  they  ?  what  ought  she  to  do  » 
This  was  the  accompaniment  to  her  husband's 
words  when  he  began  to  speak. 

"  I  need  not  trouble  you  with  particulars,"  he 
said.  "It  is  enough  to  give  you  a  bare  outline  of 
facts.  When  I  was  a  very  young  man — in  fact, 
little  more  than  a  boy — my  regiment  was  sta- 
tioned in  the  West  Indies.  I  had  not  been  there 
very  long  when  I  accompanied  one  of  my  friends 
on  a  visit  to  Martinique.  This  man — I  have  for- 
gotten his  name,  and  it  does  not  matter — had  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  an  Irishman  named 
O'Grady  living  on  the  island.  lie  took  me  with 
him ;  and,  since  our  welcome  was  very  warm,  I 
soon  became  intimate  in  the  family.  The  man 
himself — O'Grady,  I  mean — was  a  widower,  and 
his  family  consisted  of  two  daughters.  One  of 

them  was  a  widow,  a  Mrs. .     Confound  my 

memory  !  I  have  forgotten  that  name,  too.  The 
other  was  a  young  girl,  pretty  enough,  I  dare 
say ;  but  I  have  little  recollection  of  her  now, 
excepting  that  she  turned  my  head  completely  at 
the  time.  A  love-affair  followed,  of  course,  not- 
withstanding that  I  was  in  a  much  better  posi- 
tion to  cut  my  throat  than  to  think  of  marrying. 
My  father  had  paid  my  debts  twice,  and  I  was  in 
deep  disgrace  with  him.  The  beggarly  allowance 
which  he  still  continued,  and  my  pay  together, 
barely  sufficed,  or  rather  did  not  snffice,  for  my 
own  wants,  since  I  was  a  third  time  deeply  in 
debt.  To  marry  under  these  circumstances  was 
simple  insanity.  This  I  knew  perfectly  well. 
Still,  I  was  young,  and  ready  for  any  act  of  folly. 
The  consequence  was  that  I  compromised  with  an 
elopement  and  private  marriage.  The  girl  was 
easily  worked  upon ;  and,  for  the  rest,  matters 
were  quite  easy.  There  is  hardly  the  least  com- 
munication between  the  different  islands  of  the 
West  Indies,  and  there  was  nobody  to  follow  or 
make  disagreeable  inquiries.  Her  father,  who 


240 


MORTON 


was  infirm,  died  almost  immediately  after  her 
departure,  and  there  were  no  troublesome  broth- 
ers or  cousins  in  the  matter.  I  took  her  to  the 
island  where  I  was  stationed ;  but  nobody  in  the 
regiment  had  any  suspicion  of  the  marriage.  I 
was  particularly  cautious  on  this  point,  because 
any  rumor  reaching  my  father's  ears  would  have 
ruined  me.  Well,  before  long,  I  appreciated  my 
folly  as  it  deserved,  and  grew  heartily  tired  of 
the  whole  affair.  I  fancy  it  did  not  answer  well 
on  either  side.  Kate — that  was  the  name  of  the 
girl — was  sufficiently  full  of  complaints,  if  com- 
plaints are  any  signs  of  unhappiness.  At  last, 
to  my  great  relief,  the  regiment  was  ordered 
home.  I  left  her  as  well  provided  for  as  possi- 
ble, but  hardly  had  I  sailed  from  the  island  when 
(as  I  afterward  learned)  she  wrote  for  her  sister 
— a  thing  I  had  expressly  forbidden.  Her  excuse 
was  that  she  felt  sure  of  dying  at  the  approach- 
ing birth  of  a  second  child.  If  that  was  the 
case,  her  foreboding  was  verified,  for,  as  it 
chanced,  she  did  die.  The  sister  wrote  to  me 
then  with  regard  to  the  children — one,  the  boy 
of  whom  I  have  already  spoken,  the  other  an  in- 
fant, and  I  believe  a  girl.  To  be  burdened  with 
such  dead-weights  as  these  would  have  been 
equivalent  to  suicide,  in  so  far  as  my  prospects 
in  life  were  concerned.  A  lawyer  answered  her, 
by  my  directions,  offering  a  yearly  sum  for  their 
support,  provided  I  was  never  troubled  with  any 
filing  concerning  them,  and  provided  also  that 
they  did  not  bear  my  name.  Since  the  entire 
proof  of  the  marriage  rested  with  me,  to  pro- 
duce or  to  suppress  as  I  thought  fit,  she  had  no 
alternative  but  to  consent.  She  gave  them  her 
own  name,  and  kept  them  with  her  until  the  boy 
grew  toward  manhood  and  became  unmanage- 
able. Then  she  addressed  the  agent  through 
whom  the  yearly  stipend  was  paid,  and  request- 
ed that  some  arrangement  might  be  made,  remov- 
ing him  from  her  control,  also  requesting  that, 
if  necessary  for  this,  the  whole  of  the  allowance 
might  be  taken,  as  she  was  able  to  support  the 
sister  herself.  This  was  accordingly  done ;  and 
the  boy  was  placed  at  school  in  England.  Be- 
fore long  he  was  expelled  for  some  disgraceful 
scrape.  Then  I  took  him,  to  see  of  what  mate- 
rial he  really  was,  and  soon  found — " 

He  stopped,  for  Mrs.  Gordon  had  risen  again 
to  a  sitting  posture,  and  faced  him  in  the  gather- 
ing twilight  with  a  look  of  horror  that  words  can 
only  fail  to  describe.  It  awed  even  him,  seen 
through  the  falling  gloom ;  yet  he  recovered  mm- 
self  with  a  slight  movement,  as  if  to  shake  off 
some  unconscious  influence. 


"Well,"  he  said,  lightly,  "what  is  the  mat 
ter?" 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  tone 
that  fell  sharply  on  the  still  air.  Then,  in  a 
lower  voice,  "  My  God  !  It  cannot  be !  It  is  too 
horrible  even  for  you !  What  is  his  name  ?  "  she 
cried,  again,  more  sharply  than  before. 

"  You  might  know  his  name  by  this  time," 
he  answered,  in  a  tone  of  mingled  disgust  and 
triumph  that  did  not  escape  her  highly-strung 
ear.  "  The  m:in  to  whom  you  will  give  the  Gor- 
don estate,  if  you  still  refuse  to  surrender  Felix, 
is  the  man  you  have  so  long  scorned  and  hated, 
the  man  whom  you  have  held  as  less  than  the 
dust  beneath  your  feet — is,  in  short,  St.  John !  " 

For  a  full  minute  after  that  name  was  spoken, 
not  a  word  further  broke  the  silence  of  the  room. 
Face  to  face  they  sat  in  the  dusky  gloaming, 
the  tempter  and  the  tempted,  and  the  only  audi- 
ble sound  was  that  of  Mrs.  Gordon's  breathing, 
which  came  in  short,  painful  gasps,  as  she  sat 
with  her  hand  once  more  pressed  to  her  side, 
trying  to  still  the  wild  throbs  of  her  heart,  try- 
ing to  command  her  voice  sufficiently  to  speak. 
She  was  silent  so  long  that  at  last  Gordon  him- 
self broke  the  stillness. 

"  The  choice  is  before  you,"  he  said.  "  Sur- 
render Felix,  and  I  make  him  my  heir ;  refuse, 
and  I  shall  prove  my  first  marriage,  which  will 
give  the  estate  to  St.  John.  I  need  not  tell 
you  what  is  my  choice  in  the  matter.  It  will  be 
no  pleasant  task  to  acknowledge  a  son  in  one 
of  the  most  profligate  adventurers  and  swindlers 
in  Europe." 

"And  who  made  him  either  an  adventurer  or 
a  swindler  ? "  she  cried,  with  a  sudden  vehe- 
mence that  startled  her  listener.  "  Who  made 
him  a  tool  for  all  the  base  uses  that  your  own 
hand  disdained  ?  Who  taught  him  to  scorn  every 
law  of  God  and  man  ?  If  he  is  your  son — if  you 
have  spoken  truly — you  have  prepared  for  your- 
self an  heir  who  is  worthy  of  you  !  If  I  surren- 
dered Felix,  it  would  be  for  the  same  result. 
You  would  make  him  what  you  have  made  this 
poor  instrument  of  your  vices !  Do  you  hear 
me — do  you  believe  me — when  I  tell  you  that  I 
would  rather  see  him  dead  before  me  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  Felix  will  appreciate 
these  heroics  y.'  he  asked,  with  a  bitter  sneer. 
"Do  you  think  that,  if  he  lives,  he  will  thank 
you  for  having  stood  between  him  and  his  in- 
heritance— for  having  made  him  virtually  a  beg- 
gar?" 

"  If  he  has  a  drop  of  Morton  blood  in  his 
veins,  he  will  thank  me  for  having  spared  hinc 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  MORTON  HOUSE. 


241 


the  example  of  such  a  father,  and  the  shame  of 
having  purchased  worldly  prosperity — the  enjoy- 
ment of  property  that  rightly  belongs  to  another 
— at  the  price  of  moral  degradation." 

"  Then  your  decision  is  finally  made  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  made.  Nothing  that  you  can  say, 
nothing  that  you  can  do,  will  change  it !  " 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  half  turned  away,  then 
stopped  a  moment,  and  came  back  to  her. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  you  have  no  right 
whatever  to  this  property  which  you  are  enjoy- 
ing," he  said,  "  that  the  law  gives  all  control  of 
it  to  your  husband.  If  I  choose,  I  can  sell  this 
house,  and  every  acre  of  land  you  call  your  own, 
to-morrow." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  the  law  gives  you  such 
power,"  she  answered.  "  But,  granting  that  it 
does,  I  have  only  one  reply  to  make — try,  if  you 
dare,  to  enforce  it." 

"  Do  you  think  that  the  law  will  stand  your 
friend,  because  you  chance  to  be  a  Morton,  and 
to  be  at  home  ?  " 

"  I  think — I  know  that  the  law  is  sometimes 
powerless  to  act  in  the  face  of  public  opinion. 
And,  if  it  comes  to  an  issue  of  high-handed 
outrage  like  this,  a  Morton  will  never  lack 
friends  or  defenders  in  Lagrange." 

"  You  may  find  yourself  mistaken." 

"  We  shall  see.  But,  if  you  had  the  right, 
and  if  you  were  able  to  enforce  it,  there  would 
be  no  difference.  If  I  were  obliged  to  live  on 
charity,  or  to  beg  my  bread  by  the  way-side,  I 
should  still  defy  you.  Let  that  be  the  last  word 
between  us — the  last  I  shall  ever  speak  to  you — 
I  defy  you  ! " 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  grinding  his  teeth  to- 
gether in  irrepressible  rage. 

Recalling  the  scene  afterward,  Mrs.  Gordon 
wondered  at  her  own  fearlessness.  She  was  en- 
tirely alone,  she  was  utterly  helpless,  and  she 
had  good  reason  to  know  of  old  how  brutal  and 
how  reckless  he  could  be.  Yet  she  rose  to  her 
feet  in  the  excitement  of  passion,  and  uttered 
those  last  quivering  words,  like  a  haughty  chal- 
lenge. 

He  made  a  step  forward,  almost  as  if  he 
would  have  struck  her ;  but  she  did  not  quail. 
She  stood  before  him,  like  a  pale  wraith  of  a 
woman,  in  the  ghostly  twilight,  daring  him  to  do 
his  worst.  After  a  short  interval  of  silence,  that 
worst  came  in  the  form  of  words. 

"You  have  taken  your  choice,"  he  said, 
"  and,  indeed,  you  shall  abide  by  it.  I  swear  to 
ton  that  I  will  find  Felix,  and  that  I  will  make 
you  repent  this  defiance  in  sackcloth  and  ashes. 


When  I  find  him,  and  when  your  hour  of  repent* 
ance  comes,  then  I  will  see  you  again,  and  not 
before ! " 

His  tone,  often  as  she  had  heard  it  in  mo- 
ments like  these,  involuntarily  made  her  shud- 
der ;  it  was  so  full  of  concentrated  bitterness, 
hatred,  and  revenge,  that  the  wonder  was,  not 
that  he  had  for  a  moment  threatened  her  with 
personal  violence,  but  that  he  was  able  to  re- 
strain himself  from  executing  that  threat.  If 
she  had  felt  inclined  to  reply,  he  gave  her  110 
time  to  do  so,  but  left  the  room  immediately 
through  the  window  by  which  he  had  entered. 

As  his  shadow  passed  away,  the  woman — his 
wife — sat  down,  sick  and  shuddering.  It  was 
over.  Was  it  over,  or  had  she  only  waked  from 
a  hideous  dream  ?  Had  he  really  been  there, 
and  had  the  last  bitter  defiance  been  exchanged 
between  them  ?  Had  she  really  told  him  that 
Felix  vras  safe  from  him,  and  that,  for  herself, 
she  was  ready  to  face  the  worst  that  malice,  aided 
by  the  strong  arm  of  legal  power,  could  devise 
against  her?  Her  head  seemed  giddy;  she  could 
not  tell.  A  darkness,  that  was  not  the  darkness 
of  approaching  night,  closed  round  her.  She 
made  a  vain  effort  to  cry  aloud ;  but  it  ended  in 
a  low,  gurgling  moan.  Then  she  sank  down  on 
the  pillows. 

Gordon,  meanwhile,  was  walking  quickly  and 
fiercely — as  men  always  walk  under  the  influence 
of  strong  passion — round  the  house.  It  was  not 
by  any  means  so  late  as  it  appeared  in  the  room 
he  had  quitted  ;  but,  still,  dusk  had  fallen,  and 
objects  near  at  hand  were  becoming  indistinct, 
while  those  farther  off  were  entirely  wrapped  in 
obscurity.  This  fact,  together  with  great  pre- 
occupation of  mind,  prevented  his  observing  a 
man  who  was  nearing  the  terrace,  as  he  emerged 
from  the  shadow  of  the  house,  and  descended  the 
stone  steps  that  led  down  to  the  avenue. 

He  had  scarcely  taken  half  a  dozen  steps  on 
the  latter,  when  his  path  was  barred ;  a  voice, 
quiet  but  somewhat  menacing,  said,  "A  word 
with  you,  if  you  please,"  and,  looking  up,  he 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  St.  John  ! 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  MORTON  HODB1. 

IT  was  time  that  Morton  Annesley  had  at  lart 
returned  to  Annesdale,  and  that  Lagrange  had  at 
last  been  rewarded  for  long  and  impatient  waiV 


242 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


ing,  by  the  appearance  of  the  hero  of  the  melo- 
drama it  had  arranged  with  so  much  artistic 
skill,  and  such  dramatic  situations — arranged, 
alas !  for  nothing.  It  was  a  very  tame  conclu- 
sion indeed,  the  crestfallen  gossips  thought, 
when  Annesley  quietly  came  home,  two  or  three 
weeks  after  Miss  Tresham's  return,  and  looked 
and  seemed,  in  every  respect,  very  much  as 
usual. 

It  was  a  very  blessed  conclusion,  his  mother 
thought,  however  ;  and  her  joy  was  so  great  that 
she  even  refrained  from  any  reproaches  or  any 
complaints  of  the  long  and  bitter  anxiety  she  had 
endured— anxiety  concealed  as  much  as  possible 
under  a  suave  manner  and  a  smiling  face,  but 
suffered  like  the  gnawing  of  a  vulture,  while  La- 
grange  talked  itself  hoarse,  and  her  own  heart 
was  sick  to  the  extreme  of  heart-sickness.  It 
might  have  been  that  his  pale  face  and  listless 
manner  pleaded  for  him  more  powerfully  than 
any  words.  He  had  suffered — he  was  suffering ! 
After  all,  there  is  no  excuse  like  that,  especially 
to  a  woman.  Of  her  own  accord,  and  quite  si- 
lently, Mrs.  Annesley  buried  out  of  sight  the 
tomahawk  which  had  been  kept  in  bright,  sharp 
readiness  for  combat,  during  all  this  period  of 
absence.  He  was  back  again,  he  was  safe — what 
did  all  the  rest  matter  ?  It  is  true  it  mattered 
sufficiently  to  fill  her  with  an  inexpressible  mix- 
ture of  relief  and  indignation  when  she  heard 
that  the  girl  against  whom  she  had  expended  so 
much  effort,  the  girl  whom  she  had  unhesitating- 
ly denounced  as  a  scheming  intrigante,  1  ad  ab- 
solutely refused  the  grand  chance  of  becoming 
mistress  of  Annesdale,  when  the  owner  of  Annes- 
dale  had  been  insane  enough  to  offer  it  to  her. 
There  is  no  exaggeration  in  saying  that  contend- 
ing emotions  nearly  choked  her  when  she  heard 
this ;  and  that  the  relief  and  the  indignation, 
already  mentioned,  were  at  least  equal  in  her 
breast.  "  Oh,  what  a  blessing  to  be  free  at  last 
from  that  haunting  dread,  and  yet — oh,  how  dare 
she,  the  miserable  creature ! "  That  was  the 
way  thanksgiving  and  reproach  were  mingled  to 
her.  Is  it  not  always  so  ?  Few  things  are  more 
singular  than  to  consider  how  seldom  in  our  lives 
we  have  ever  known  a  pure,  unmixed  emotion  of 
any  sort.  Whether  it  be  joy  or  sorrow,  it  is  al- 
ways dashed  by  and  blended  with  something 
else  ;  it  is  almost  always  complex  in  its  nature. 
God  is  good  to  us  in  this,  as  in  all  things  else. 
Strong  revulsions  of  feeling  would  be  too  power- 
ful, if  they  came  with  unmixed  force — if  joy  were 
joy,  and  sorrow  were  sorrow,  pure  and  simple, 
aot  as  now,  the  hues  of  <j;ich  blended  with  ex- 


quisite care  into  the  other.  Yet  people  com. 
plain  of  this,  and  call  it  "  unsatisfactory."  If 
they  called  themselves  ungrateful,  they  would  b« 
considerably  nearer  the  truth. 

The  day  after  Morton's  return  home,  he  went 
to  see  Mrs.  Gordon.  The  one  following  this — hia 
third  in  Lagrange — he  spent  in  Tallihoma,  at- 
tending to  various  arrears  of  business.  It  was 
sunset  when  he  left  the  town,  and  turned  Ilde- 
rim's  head  in  tlie  direction  of  Annesdale.  His 
road  led  him  past  the  Marks  house,  and  some- 
thing in  the  hour  and  in  the  sight  of  the  chil- 
dren, who  were  playing  in  the  garden,  brought 
to  his  mind  with  singularly  vivid  remembrance 
that  November  evening  when  he  had  stood  at 
the  gate  talking  to  Katharine,  and  Mrs.  Gordon 
went  by — when  her  face  entered  for  the  first 
time  the  current  of  their  existence.  It  is  only 
as  we  pass  on  in  life  —  only  when  we  have 
reached  some  height  of  time,  and  can  thus  over- 
look the  road  winding  through  the  valley — that 
the  mist  clears  a  little,  and  we  begin  to  under- 
stand the  true  significance  of  events  that  seemed 
purposeless  or  puzzling  at  the  time  of  their  oc- 
currence. To  Annesley,  looking  back,  it  seemed 
as  if  every  change  of  the  last  few  months  dated 
from  that  evening — as  if  all  the  perplexities  and 
annoyances  which  had  encompassed  him  took 
their  rise  then — as  if  the  quieter  life,  and  the 
hopes  that  had  brightened  it,  went  down  into 
darkness  with  that  long  -  vanished  day.  He 
sighed  a  little  to  himself — a  short,  quick,  half- 
impatient  sigh — then  pulled  his  hat  over  his 
eyes,  and  touched  Ilderim  with  the  spur.  Ilde- 
rim,  who  always  resented  any  liberty  of  this 
kind,  immediately  indulged  in  a  few  rearing 
and  plunging  exercises,  which  had  the  effect  of 
diverting  his  master's  attention  from  useless  and 
by  no  means  enlivening  retrospection.  When  he 
was  brought  to  terms,  and  had  at  last  settled 
into  a  sharp,  steady  canter,  a  proverb  familiar 
enough  to  a  certain  class  of  thinkers  was  on 
Annesley's  lips.  "  Che  sard,  sard  /  "  he  mut- 
tered to  himself.  "  After  all,  who  can  tell  ? 
Every  thing  is  for  the  best,  no  doubt.  The  only 
difficulty — Soh,  Ilderim  !  What  the  deuce  is  the 
matter  with  you,  sir  ?  " 

He  broke  off  with  this  impatient  question,  as 
Ilderim  suddenly, gave  a  bolt  from  one  side  of 
the  road  to  the  other.  It  was  just  where  a  foot- 
path led  across  some  fields,  and  a  stile  crossed 
the  hedge  that  bordered  the  main  road.  As  An- 
nesley turned  quickly  to  see  what  had  caused 
the  fright,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  top  of  a 
hat  sinking  below  the  hedge,  and  thinking  that 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  MORTON  HOUSE. 


243 


iome  little  imp  had  startled  the  horse  for  amuse- 
ment, and  was  now  hiding  from  the  probable 
consequences,  he  gave  Ilderim's  bridle  a  per- 
emptory jerk,  and,  in  a  good  deal  of  a  fume, 
rode  up  to  the  stile.  "  Come  out,  you  miserable 
little  rascal,"  he  said,  "  and  let  me  tell  you  that 
if  you  ever  try  such  a  trick  as  that  again — " 

He  stopped  short,  full  of  amazement.  In- 
stead of  a  child,  a  man  rose  up  from  behind  the 
hedge,  at  his  bidding,  and,  with  the  full  glow  of 
sunset  falling  on  him,  he  recognized  St.  John. 
They  faced  each  other  silently  for  an  instant — 
Annesley  overcome  by  astonishment,  St.  John 
full  of  mortified  rage,  and  neither  knowing  what 
to  do  or  to  say,  until  the  adventurer,  who,  hav- 
ing been  most  prepared  for  the  encounter,  broke 
the  awkward  silence  first. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of 
insolent  defiance.  "  Did  you  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  answered  Annesley, 
recovering  a  little.  "  No,  I  did  not  speak  to 
you.  That  is,  when  I  spoke,  I  thought  some 
mischievous  boy  had  frightened  my  horse,  and 
was  hiding  behind  the  hedge.  I  had  no  idea  it 
was  you — that  is — I  mean — " 

"  You  had  no  idea  that  /  was  hiding  behind 
the  hedge,"  said  St.  John,  grimly.  "  Thank  you, 
Mr.  Annesley,  for  that  much  courtesy.  You  are 
right,  too — I  was  not  hiding.  I  have  been  in 
the  country  to  see  a  friend,  and,  returning  to 
Tallahoma  by  this  short  cut,  I  stopped  here  a 
moment  to  resj.  I  regret  to  have  startled  your 
horse.  I  know  by  experience  that  nothing  Ls 
more  provoking.  Good-evening." 

Annesley  returned  the  salutation,  and  rode 
on ;  but  as  he  rode,  he  thought  of  the  encounter, 
and  the  longer  he  thought,  the  more  singular  it 
appeared  to  him.  "That  fellow  is  a  slippery 
scoundrel,"  he  thought,  "  and  I  am  as  certain  as 
I  can  possibly  be  of  a  thing  I  don't  know,  that 
he  was  hiding  when  I  startled  him.  '  A  friend 
in  the  country,'  '  resting  on  the  stile  ' — as  if  he 
imagined  I  would  credit  such  a  story  !  What 
the  deuce  is  he  up  to,  I  wonder  ?  He  can't  be 
meaning  to  turn  highwayman;  and  yet  this  looks 
amazingly  like  it.  Ah  !  " 

He  pulled  up  Ilderim  with  a  jerk  that  almost 
threw  that  astonished  horse  on  his  haunches, 
and  stopped  a  minute  in  the  road  to  think. 
Like  a  flash,  the  recollection  of  Mrs.  Gordon 
came  to  him,  and  he  remembered  that  this  stile 
was  almost  exactly  opposite  the  gates  of  Morton 
House.  Was  St.  John  on  his  way  there  ? — did  his 
appearance  mean  any  thinglike  annoyance  to  her? 
Such  a  thought  was  enough  to  fire  Annesley  at 


once.  He  did  not  stop  to  consider  whether  or 
not  it  was  probable — that  it  was  possible,  was 
quite  sufficient  to  put  his  blood  in  a  glow.  He 
wheeled  Ilderim  about,  and  in  a  second  was  gal- 
loping back  along  the  road  he  had  come. 

At  the  gates  of  Morton  House,  however,  he 
paused.  He  did  not  want  to  startle  his  cousin 
unnecessarily,  or  make  himself  ridiculous,  yet 
he  could  not  banish  an  uncomfortable  impres- 
sion that  St.  John's  appearance  in  that  particu 
lar  place  meant  mischief.  While  he  was  still 
debating  what  he  should  do,  the  thought  of  John 
Warwick  came  to  him  as  a  sort  of  inspiration. 
"  He  will  know,"  he  thought.  "  He  has  been  on 
the  scene,  and  knows  much  more  of  matters 
than  I  do.  He  may  be  able  to  tell  what  the  fel- 
low is  after  ;  and,  at  all  events,  I  need  not  star- 
tle my  cousin  without  first  learning  whether  or 
not  she  is  likely  to  be  annoyed."  Under  such 
circumstances,  and  with  such  a  person,  resolve 
and  execution  are  very  nearly  synonymous  terms. 
In  the  course  of  another  minute,  he  was  gal- 
loping rapidly  toward  Tallahoma. 

Dusk  had  fallen,  as  he  rode  down  the  village 
street — his  evident  haste  making  more  than  one 
person  gaze  curiously  after  him — and  drew  up 
before  Mr.  Warwick's  office  just  as  that  gen- 
tleman, with  his  letter  to  Katharine's  would- 
be  employer  in  his  pocket,  stepped  into  th* 
street. 

"  Why,  Annesley ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  the 
eager  horseman  reined  up  at  the  curb-stone.  "  I 
am  glad  to  see  you' back,"  he  continued,  coming 
forward  with  extended  hand.  "  How  are  you  ?  " 

"  Tolerably  well,  thank  you,"  said  Annesley, 
shaking  hands  absently,  and  in  a  great  hurry. 
"  You  won't  be  surprised,  or  think  me  very  fool- 
ish, if  I  ask  you  a  rather  abrupt  question,  will 
you  ?  "  he  added,  quickly.  "  I  have  a  special 
reason  for  it." 

"  A  lawyer  has  no  business  ever  to  be  sur- 
prised," replied  Mr.  Warwick,  noticing  the  eager 
concern  on  the  face  before  him.  "  Ask  away — a 
hundred  if  you  like." 

"  Anybody  in  your  office  ?  " 

"  Not  a  soul." 

The  young  man  leaned  out  of  his  saddle,  and 
spoke  low  and  quickly.  "  You  know  more  about 
Mrs.  Gordon's  affairs  than  I  do,"  he  said.  "  Ii 
it  possible  that  that  fellow  St.  John  could  annoy 
her  in  any  way  ?  " 

The  lawyer  started  a  little. 

"It  is  possible,  certainly,"  he  answered, 
coolly  ;  "  but  it  is  not  at  all  probable.  Why  do 
you  ask  ?  " 


244 


MORTON    HOUSE. 


"  Because  I  met  him  half  an  hour  ago,  at  the 
pates  of  Morton  House." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Warwick,  abso- 
lutely recoiling  a  step  in  his  amazement.  "  You 
must  be  mistaken,  Morton,"  he  went  on  hastily. 
"It  can't  be — it  is  not  possible — that  you  met 
St.  John ! " 

"  I  saw  him  as  plainly  as  I  see  you,  and 
spoke  to  him,  besides,"  answered  Morton,  some- 
what surprised.  "  Why  should  it  not  be  St. 
John  ?  He—" 

"Never  mind  about  that,"  interrupted  the 
other  hastily.  "  If  you  are  sure  it  was  the  man 
himself—" 

"  I  am — perfectly  sure." 

"  Well,  then,  are  you  also  sure  that  he  was 
going  to  Morton  House  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all — as  you  may  judge  for  yourself." 
He  then  proceeded  to  detail  the  incident  as  it  oc- 
curred. "  You  see,"  he  went  on,  when  he  had 
finished,  "  it  is  all  pure  supposition  on  my  part 
— and  for  that  reason,  I  would  not  run  the  risk 
of  disturbing  my  cousin  until  I  had  spoken  to 
you  about  it.  If  he  can  annoy  her  in  any 
way — " 

"  He  can  annoy  her,"  interrupted  Mr.  War- 
wick, "  and  his  venturing  to  reappear  here  looks 
very  much  as  if  he  had  that  intention.  You  are 
mounted,  Annesley.  You  had  better  ride  on  to 
Morton  House  at  once — I  will  follow  you  as  soon 
as  I  possibly  can." 

"  Then  you  really  think — " 

"  Hallo,  George  !  Stop  a  minute  ! "  cried 
Mr.  Warwick,  suddenly  interrupting  him.  And 
when  Morton  turned,  be  saw  that  the  person  ad- 
dressed was  a  young  man  who  came  riding  down 
the  street  in  their  rear.  "  Good-evening,  Clay- 
ton," he  said,  recognizing  one  of  the  young 
"  men  about  town  "  of  Tallahoma  ;  and,  as  Clay- 
ton drew  up  and  returned  the  salutation,  Mr. 
Warwick  went  on :  "  George,  you  are  going  home, 
are  you  not?  I  thought  so.  Lend  me  your 
horse,  then,  for  an  hour  or  so.  I  want  to  go  to 
the  country  in  haste,  and  haven't  time  to  wait 
for  my  own." 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Warwick,"  said  the  young 
man,  dismounting  instantly.  "  He's  quite  at 
your  service,"  he  continued,  with  evidently  cor- 
dial sincerity.  "  You  need  not  be  in  a  hurry 
about  returning  him  ;  and,  if  you  want  to  go  any 
distance,  he's  quite  fresh — I've  only  been  out  to 
the  plantation  and  back." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  hastily, 
and  mounting  the  horse  without  loss  of  time.  "  I 
am  in  a  great  hurry — it  is  most  fortunate  that 


you  happened  to  be  passing,  George.      Good, 
evening. — Now,  Annesley ! " 

Annesley  needed  no  second  bidding,  and  side 
by  side  the  two  men  whom  Fate  had  of  late 
seemed  capriciously  determined  to  throw  togeth- 
er, rode  out  of  town  on  their  way  to  Morton 
House.  Considering  that  both  horses  were  put 
on  their  mettle,  it  was  not  surprising  that  in  a 
few  minutes  they  reached  the  large  iron  gates  of 
the  Morton  domain,  and,  in  still  another  min- 
ute, were  cantering  up  the  avenue — looking  al- 
most like  spectral  horsemen  as  they  rode  rap- 
idly under  the  bare  trees  in  the  dusky  gloam- 
ing. 

Their  anxiety  and  uncertainty  had  in  some 
intangible  manner  been  communicated  without 
any  agency  of  speech  ;  for  certainly  each  knew 
what  the.  other  was  feeling,  and  yet  certainly 
also,  not  a  word  had  been  spoken  on  either  side 
after  they  left  Clayton,  standing  full  of  surprise 
and  curiosity  on  the  curb-stone  in  Tallahoma. 
They  were  half-way  between  the  gate  and  the 
house  when  the  first  sound  broke  the  stillness. 
Suddenly,  on  the  soft  evening  air,  the  report  of 
a  pistol  rang  sharply  out.  Both  horses  sprang — 
reared — plunged — and  before  a  word  could  be 
exchanged — in  the  midst  of  the  struggle  for  the 
mastery,  which  ensued  on  the  part  of  both 
riders — two  other  reports  followed  in  quick  suc- 
cession. 

"  What  on  earth  can  it  be  !  "  said  Annesley, 
as  soon  as  Ilderim,  quivering  in  every  limb,  was 
again  under  his  control. 

Mr.  Warwick  did  not  answer.  He  galloped 
hastily  forward,  and  the  other  followed.  In  an- 
other minute,  they  reached  the  terrace-steps, 
and  came  upon  a  scene  that  neither  of  them  ever 
forgot. 

The  reports  which  they  heard  had  evidently 
startled  the  entire  household.  Notwithstanding 
the  obscurity  of  the  twilight,  they  were  able  to 
see  that  figures  were  running  eagerly  round  the 
terrace  and  descending  the  steps,  at  the  bottom 
of  which  a  confused  movement  was  taking  place. 
A  group  of  servants  were  bending  over  some  ob- 
ject, or  objects  on  the  ground ;  but  they  all 
drew  back  instinctively  as  the  two  gentlemen 
galloped  up. 

"  What  is  it,  Harrison  ?  "  asked  Mr.  War- 
wick, almost  before  he  drew  rein. 

"  The  Lord  only  knows,  sir,"  answered  Har- 
rison-— evidently  in  a  state  of  the  wildest  excite- 
ment. "  Two  men  shot  theyselvcs  sir  —  right 
here — and  the  first  we  knowed  of  it  was  when 
we  heard  the  reports.  I  was  in  the  kitchen 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  MORTON  HOUSE. 


245 


sir,   and   I  jumped   up  and  come    a -running, 
and—" 

"  Stand  back,  all  of  you !  "  said  Mr.  Warwick, 
impatiently.  He  and  Annesley  pressed  forward. 
It  was  true.  Two  figures  were  lying  on  the 
ground  where  there  was  every  trace  of  a  fierce 
struggle — one  slightly  breathing  with  a  pistol 
still  in  his  hand ;  the  other  fallen  across  the 
lower  step  of  the  terrace — on  the  very  threshold 
of  Morton  House — stone  dead ! 

For  a  moment,  the  unexpected  horror  of  the 
situation  held  both  men  powerless.  They  looked 
at  each  other  through  the  gathering  shades  of 
evening,  with  white  faces ;  but  neither  of  them 
said  a  word,  until  the  thought  of  Mrs.  Gordon 
came  to  both.  What  had  preceded  this  trage- 
dy, they  could  not  even  guess;  but  it  would 
have  been  strange  if  their  first  care  had  not  been 
for  her. 

"  You  will  see  what  can  be  done  here,"  said 
Annesley,  after  a  moment.  "  I  must  go  to  my 
cousin." 

"  Yes — go  at  once,"  answered  Mr.  Warwick, 
quickly.  "  She  must  have  heard  the  reports, 
and  she  may  come —  Stop  that,  by  any  means." 

Morton  did  not  think  this  likely  ;  but  he  gave 
one  or  two  agile  bounds  up  the  terrace-steps, 
and  strode  hastily  toward  the  house.  He  had 
not  gone  a  dozen  paces  before  he  met  Babette, 
running  in  the  direction  of  the  scene  of  action, 
wringing  her  hands,  and  crying  aloud.  She  did 
not  recognize  him,  and  he  was  forced  to  claim 
her  attention  peremptorily  before  she  would  even 
notice  him.  When  she  found  who  it  was,  how- 
ever, she  seized  his  arm  with  both  hands,  and 
poured  forth  a  pitiless  lamentation. 

"  M'sieur,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  cried  she. 
"  I  went  in  madame's  room,  a  minute  ago,  and  I 
found  her — poor  lady — lying  in  a  dead  faint  on 
the  sofa.  I  knew — ah,  mon  Dieu  !  I  felt  sure 
that  M'sieur  Gordon  had  been  there.  Then  I 
heard  the  guns,  and  I  saw  all  the  servant*  run- 
ning; but  I  could  not  leave  madame,  and 
she — " 

"  Has  she  come  to  herself?  "  asked  Morton, 
who  could  not  help  thinking  that  a  dead  faint 
was  the  best  possible  condition  for  Mrs.  Gordon 
just  then. 

"  I  can  do  nothing  with  her  !  "  cried  Babette, 
hysterically.  "  I  have  tried  to  bring  her  to,  but 
I  could  do  nothing  with  her ;  and  I  came  to  see 
about  the  guns — 0  m'sieur,  what  is  it  ? — has 
M'sieur  Gordon — " 

"  You  are  just  the  person !  "  said  Annesley, 
interrupting  her;  and,  much  to  her  surprise,  tak- 


ing her,  in  turn,  by  the  arm.  He  led  her  for. 
ward,  without  giving  her  time  for  a  word,  and 
stopped  at  the  head  of  the  steps. 

"Here's  Babette,  Mr.  Warwick,"  he  said. 
"  She  will  be  able  to  tell  more  than  anybody 
else.  My  cousin,  she  says,  is  in  a  swoon.  Why 
don't  you  send  for  lights  ?  " 

"  I  have  done  so,"  answered  Mr.  Warwick's 
voice  out  of  the  dusk.  "  There  they  come  now." 

They  came  as  he  spoke — three  or  four  ex- 
cited negroes  running  as  hard  as  possible,  some 
with  candles,  which  they  shaded  with  their 
hands,  and  some  with  pine-torches  caught  from 
the  kitchen  fire — the  red  names  streaming  out 
wildly  on  the  night  air,  and  lighting  up  the 
whole  scene  with  the  peculiar  glare  that  only 
pine  produces.  It  was  a  singularly  picturesque 
group,  if  anybody  concerned  had  been  able  to 
think  even  for  a  moment  of  its  possible  effect. 
Afterward  Annesley  remembered  how  he  stood 
at  the  top  of  the  steps  holding  the  trembling, 
sobbing  Frenchwoman  by  the  arm;  how  Mr. 
Warwick  directed  every  thing  below ;  how  he 
glanced  back  at  the  grim  old  house  behind  them, 
thinking  of  the  insensible  woman  within  it ;  how, 
at  that  moment,  a  shrill,  piercing  scream  from 
Babette  made  him  look  round  again ;  how  the  red 
glow  of  the  torches  fell  just  then  full  on  the 
face  of  the  dead  man,  and  how  he  shivered  from 
head  to  foot  as  his  companion  cried  wildly  : 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu  ! — M'sieur  Gordon  ! " 

An  hour  later,  Mr.  Warwick  came  out  to  An- 
nesley, who  had  left  the  house  and  was  walking 
up  and  down  the  terrace  before  the  front  en- 
trance. Mrs.  Gordon  insisted  upon  being  left 
alone  with  the  dead  body  of  her  husband,  and 
the  doctors  were  in  consultation  over  St.  John, 
so  there  had  been  nothing  for  Morton  to  do  ;  and 
he  had  come  out  to  see  if  he  could  not  shake  off 
the  numbing  horror  that  seemed  to  oppress  him, 
in  the  fresh  air,  and  under  the  great,  silent  can- 
opy of  heaven.  He  had  not  made  more  than 
half  a  dozen  turns,  however,  and  the  cigar  he 
had  mechanically  taken  out  was  still  unlighted 
in  his  hand,  when  the  lawyer  walked  up  to 
him. 

"  The  doctors  have  decided  that  there  is  no 
possible  hope  for  that  poor  fellow,"  he  said. 
"  The  ball  has  entered  his  lung  in  a  place  which 
renders  extraction  impossible ;  and  death  must 
take  place  in  a  few  hours— probably  sooner.  He 
has  recovered  consciousness,  and  I  think  his  si* 
ter  ought  to  be  summoned  Morton  you  must 
go  for  her." 


246 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"  For  his  sister ! "  repeated  Morton,  in  be- 
wilderment. As  much  as  he  had  time  to  think, 
he  was  certainly  inclined  to  believe  that  Mr. 
Warwick  had  taken  leave  of  his  senses. 

"  I  forgot  that  you  did  not  know,"  said  the 
Other.  "  Miss  Tresham  is  his  sister ;  and  she  is 
at  Raynor's — George  Raynor's.  Will  you  go  for 
her?" 

"  I — of  course,  instantly,"  said  Annesley, 
swallowing  this  new  cause  for  astonishment 
with  a  great  gulp.  "  But — if  you  will  excuse 
me — are  you  sure — is  there  no  mistake — " 

"  I  am  quite  sure,"  answered  Mr.  Warwick, 
cutting  him  short.  "  There  is  no  mistake  what- 
ever about  her  being  his  sister ;  but  it  is  a  long 
story,  and  I  cannot  begin  to  tell  it  now.  Ta.ke 
every  thing  for  granted,  my  good  fellow,  and  go 
at  once — remember,  it  is  a  case  of  life  and 
death." 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  that,"  the  other 
replied. 

Nothing  more  was  said  by  either.  Men, 
when  they  know  they  can  rely  on  each  other, 
are  not  much  given  to  speech.  With  his  un- 
lighted  cigar  still  between  his  fingers,  Annesley 
walked  away  to  the  stables  where  some  officious 
servant  had  taken  Ilderim,  while  Mr.  Warwick 
went  back  into  the  house.  His  foot  fell  softly  as 
in  crossing  the  hall  he  passed  a  closed  door, 
under  which  shone  a  stream  of  light.  As  he 
sprang  into  the  saddle,  he  chanced  to  turn 
one  look  at  the  house,  and  caught  the  same 
light — shining  steadily  over  the  terrace  from  a 
flower-wreathed  window.  He  drew  his  breath 
quickly  at  sight  of  it,  for  he  knew  what  it  meant 
— hn  knew  that  in  the  room  where  little  more 
than  an  hour  before  the  last  bitter  defiance  had 
passed  between  them,  the  widow  now  watched  by 
her  husband's  corpse. 

He  had  no  time  for  reflection,  however.  "  Re- 
member, it  is  a  case  of  life  and  death,"  Mr. 
Warwick  had  said ;  and  the  young  man,  as  he 
had  answered,  was  not  likely  to  forget  it.  He 
gave  Ilderim  a  sharp  taste  of  the  obnoxious 
spurs,  and,  after  one  wild  plunge,  was  away — cut- 
ting straight  across  the  park,  and  taking  a  plan- 
tation by-way  that  led  through  the  fields  to  the 
Raynor  estate.  He  did  not  trouble  himself 
much  about  gates  or  bars ;  but  when  he  came 
to  a  fence — and  fences,  it  seemed  to  him,  had 
never  before  been  so  numerous — gave  Ilderim 
his  head,  and  went  straight  at  it. 

At  this  rate,  it  was  not  long  before  he  came 
in  sight  of  the  Raynor  house — or  rather,  of  the 
Raynor  out-buildings ;  for  his  approach  was 


made  from  the  rear.  Fortunately,  he  knew  the 
place  well,  and  was  at  no  loss  where  or  how  to 
proceed.  Opening  one  of  the  usual  large  plan- 
tation gates,  he  let  himself  into  the  stable-yard, 
and  riding  forward  soon  came  upon  a  group  of 
servants  lazily  talking  and  smoking  together. 

"  Here,  one  of  you  boys,"  he  said,  startling 
them  very  much  by  his  unexpected  appearance, 
"  take  my  horse,  while  I  go  to  the  house.  Is 
your  master  at  home  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir — Mass  George's  at  home,"  an- 
swered several  of  the  astonished  boys.  Then 
two  or  three  of  them  advanced.  "  It's  Mass 
Henry  Dargan,  ain't  it?"  asked  the  first;  for 
the  starlight  made  personal  appearance  very 
much  a  matter  of  conjecture. 

"  No — it's  Mass  Morton  Annesley,"  said  an- 
other, before  Morton  himself  could  reply.  "  I 
knows  his  horse. — Shall  I  put  him  up  for  you, 
Mr.  Annesley  ?  " 

"  No  "  —  answered  Annesley.  He  stopped 
and  thought  a  moment.  "  Is  Charley  in  the 
stable  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir — been  up  all  day." 

"  Change  my  saddle  to  him,  then,  and  put  a 
side-saddle  on  Ilderim.  Make  haste  about  it, 
and  when  they  are  ready,  bring  them  both  to 
the  house.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  A  side-saddle,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes — a  side-saddle.  Don't  waste  time  over 
it.  Change  my  saddle  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and 
bring  the  horses  on." 

He  walked  away,  leaving  the  astonished 
grooms  to  bewilder  themselves  with  conjectures 
about  this  strange  order,  and  took  a  familiar 
path  to  the  house.  Following  it  directly,  he  soon 
found  himself  on  a  side  piazza,  and,  looking 
through  a  glass  doer,  saw  that  the  family  were 
at  supper.  Involuntarily,  he  stopped  a  minute — 
he  began  to  realize  now  that  it  was  hard  to  take 
the  next  step. 

Standing  thus,  he  saw  Katharine  for  the 
first  time  since  that  well-remembered  day  at 
Bellefont.  She  was  looking  pale,  but  very  pret- 
ty, he  thought,  as  he  watched  her  sitting  exactly 
opposite  the  door  through  which  he  made  his 
observation.  The  family  party  was  not  large, 
and  supper — if  the  light  meal  merited  such  a 
heavy  name — was  set  very  informally  on  a  small 
round  table.  George*  Raynor,  with  his  crutches 
beside  him,  was  comfortably  established  on  one 
side  of  this,  while  his  wife  poured  out  coffee  on 
the  other.  Irene  Vernon,  with  a  book  in  her 
hand,  stood  by  the  hearth,  where  a  seivant  was 
toasting  bread.  Being  the  person  most  discn- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 


247 


gaged,  she  first  caught  a  glimpse  of  Annesley's 
face  through  the  glass  door,  and  made  a  slight 
exclamation.  After  that,  he  had  no  alternative 
but  to  push  it  open,  and  enter. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 

SOMETHING  in  Annesley's  face  and  manner 
told  his  story  for  him  as  soon  as  he  came  in  up- 
on the  astonished  group.  Raynor  was  the  first 
person  who  looked  up  as  the  door  opened,  and 
he  made  the  first  echo  of  Miss  Vernon's  excla- 
mation. 

"  Why,  Annesley ! "  he  cried,  making  an 
effort  to  rise,  and  sinking  back  again,  when  he 
remembered  his  leg.  "  Good  Heavens,  Morton ! 
What  is  the  matter?" 

Morton  came  forward,  and  tried  to  smile,  as 
he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  You  must  excuse  my  being  so  unceremoni- 
ous," he  said.  "  I  came  through  the  stable-yard, 
and  followed  the  side-path  to  the  house.  I  hope 
you  are  all  well.  It  was  a  shame  to  startle  you 
so !  —  Indeed,  Mrs.  Raynor,  you  need  not  be 
alarmed.  Nothing  is  the  matter,  I  assure  you — 
at  least  nothing  that  concerns  you." 

"  Something  that  concerns  somebody  else, 
then,"  said  Raynor,  impatiently.  "  The  deuce, 
man ! — don't  try  to  tell  us  that  nothing  is  the 
matter  when  you  look  like  this  !  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  come  for  Miss  Tresham,"  said  An- 
nesley, looking  at  Katharine,  and  thinking — 
poor  fellow  ! — that  he  had  better  make  a  desper- 
ate plunge  into  the  matter  at  once.  Impulsively, 
he  went  over  and  took  her  hands — there  was 
something  very  pitying  in  his  face  and  eyes. 
"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,"  he  said,  "  I  must  beg 
you  to  come  with  me  at  once.  You  are  wanted 
— at  Morton  House." 

"  Wanted  ! — by  whom  ?  "  she  asked,  for  Mor- 
ton House  was  the  last  place  she  could  possibly 
have  expected  him  to  name. 

"  Wanted  by  " — he  hesitated  a  moment — "  by 
Mr.  St.  John.  He  has  been  in  a  difficulty,  and,  I. 
am  sorry  to  say,  is  badly  wounded." 

"  Ah !  "  she  gave  a  low  cry,  and  grew  sud- 
denly pale.  "  But — but  he  cannot  be  there  1 " 

"  Yes,  he  is  there.  I  cannot  tell  you  any 
more  now,"  he  went  on,  hastily,  as  he  saw  the 
amazement  in  her  dilated  eyes.  "  You  had  bet- 
ter change  your  dress  at  once.  I  have  ordered 
a  horse  for  you — it  will  be  the  quickest  way  of 


reaching  Morton  House.     The  sooner  we  start 
the  better." 

"  Is—"  She  stopped,  and  drawing  her  hand 
out  of  his  clasp,  clutched  nervously  at  the  back 
of  the  chair  from  which  she  had  risen,  while  her 
words  came  with  n  slight  gasp — "  is  he  dying?  " 

Annesley  did  not  answer,  but,  being  inexperi- 
enced  in  dissimulation,  his  face  answered  for  him. 
Everybody  who  was  looking  on  read  the  reply 
written  there  as  plainly  as  Katharine  did.  She 
gave  a  shuddering  sigh,  put  her  hands  to  her 
face  for  an  instant,  then  let  them  fall,  and 
turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"  I  will  be  ready  in  a  minute,"  she  said,  in  a 
repressed  sort  of  voice. 

"  I  will  help  you,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  break- 
ing  the  trance  of  surprise  that  held  them  all. 
She  came  forward  quickly,  and  drew  the  girl's 
hand  into  her  arm.  There  was  something  very 
gentle  in  the  action,  and  in  her  face,  as  she 
looked  back  at  Annesley. — "She  shall  be  ready 
in  a  minute,"  she  said.  "  Don't  fear  any  de- 
lay." 

They  passed  out  of  the  room,  and  then  Mor- 
ton was  beset  by  questions — to  which  he  gave 
very  unsatisfactory  answers  indeed.  .  "  I  don't 
know  much  more  about  the  matter  than  you  do," 
he  said,  at  last.  "  And  of  what  I  do  know,  I  am 
bound  to  say  nothing,  because  it  is  no  affair  of 
mine.  You  may  hear  all  about  it  soon — God 
knows  :  I  don't.  Who  is  shot  ?  That  poor  fel- 
low St.  John,  for  one,  I  can  tell  you. — George,  1 
had  a  side-saddle  put  on  Ilderim  for  Miss  Tresh- 
am, and  ordered  out  Charley  for  myself.  You 
don't  object,  do  you  ?  " 

"Object!  Of  course  not,"  said  George. 
"  Charley  has  been  standing  up  in  the  stable  eat- 
ing his  head  off,  ever  since  I  broke  my  leg.  But, 
Morton,  you  can  at  least  tell  us  what  this — St 
John  is  his  name  ? — has  to  do  with  Miss  Tresh 
am?" 

"  No,  I  can't,"  answered  Morton.  "  Misa 
Tresham  will  very  likely  tell  you  herself,"  he 
continued;  "until  then,  my  dear  fellow,  you 
must  restrain  your  curiosity  as  best  you  can. — 
Mrs.  Raynor,  will  you  give  me  a  cup  of  coffee? 
I  have  had  no  supper  this  evening." 

He  made  the  right  diversion.  With  all  a 
woman's  ready  sympathy,  Mrs.  Raynor  was  at 
once  intent  upon  administering  to  his  bodily 
wants,  even  in  preference  to  the  gratification  of 
her  own  curiosity.  Notwithstanding  his  pro- 
test, she  insisted  upon  making  him  eat  as  well  as 
drink,  and  she  was  so  full  of  this  important 
matter,  that  she  did  not  find  time  to  ask  anoth- 


248 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


er  question,  before  Miss  Vernon  and  Katharine 
came  back,  the  latter  equipped  and  ready  to 
start. 

"  Mr.  Annesley,  are  you  not  afraid  to  put  her 
on  that  wild  horse  ?  "  Miss  Vernon  asked,  as 
they  stood  on  the  piazza  and  Morton  led  Ilderim 
up.  "  Minnie  is  in  the  stable.  Surely  she  would 
do." 

"  She  would  do  excellently  well  for  a  pleas- 
ure -  ride,"  answered  Annesley ;  "  but  not  for 
such  a  purpose  as  this.  Charley  is  by  no 
means  safe,"  he  added,  "  so  Ilderim  is  our  only 
resource. — Miss  Tresham  are  you  afraid  of 
him  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  Katharine  answered. 
"  I  should  not  be  afraid  of  any  thing,  Mr. 
Annesley,  that  would  take  me  there  at  once." 

"  Ilderim  will  take  you  there  like  light- 
ning," he  said,  lifting  her  to  the  saddle.  And, 
as  he  said  it,  a  sharp  recollection  came  to  both 
of  them  of  the  evening  when  nhe  had  given  the 
name  which  had  come  to  bear  such  a  signifi- 
cance. "  Ilderim — it  signifies  '  the  Lightning,'  " 
she  had  said ;  and  now  it  rested  with  Ilderim 
whether  or  not  she  should  reach  her  brother's 
death-bed  in  time  to  hear  or  to  speak  one  last 
word  of  love,  or  pardon,  or  hope.  "  Oh  !  "  she 
said,  under  her  breath,  "  do  you  remember  ?  " 
just  as  Annesley  for  his  part  said,  "  Do  you  re- 
member ?  "  then  added  quickly,  "  You  are  riding 
him  at  last." 

"  Take  care  of  her,  Mr.  Annesley,"  came 
from  the  piazza,  in  Miss  Vernon's  voice.  It 
was  the  last  sound  that  followed  them  as  they 
rode  away. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?  "  Katharine  asked, 
as  they  passed  out  of  the  stable-gate  together. 
"  This  is  not  the  road  to  Morton  House." 

"  Yes,  it  is — the  shortest  road,"  he  answered. 
"  A  cut  across  the  plantations  which  will  take 
off  two  or  three  miles  of  the  distance.  Are  you 
afraid  ?  " 

"  Afraid— with  you  ?     Oh,  no." 

She  said  the  words  very  simply,  but,  out  of 
their  very  simplicity,  they  touched  him  deeply, 
making  that  strange,  lonely  ride — that  gallop  at 
full  speed  across  the  great  silent  fields,  and  now 
and  then  through  a  dark  stretch  of  woods  full 
of  the  weird,  inarticulate  voices  of  the  Night — 
an  era  in  his  life  to  be  ever  remembered.  What 
man  is  wise  enough  to  be  able  to  tell  when  pas- 
sion is  born,  when  it  reaches  its  full  height,  or 
when  it  dies?  Does  the  turn  of  the  tide  always 
come  when  the  waves  have  reached  their  highest 
point?  As  they  rode  along,  with  the  hoof- 


strokes  of  their  horses  the  only  audible  sound, 
themselves  uttering  scarcely  a  word,  Nature  in 
silent  grandeur  all  around  them,  man  so  far 
distant,  and  the  great  hosts  of  heaven  march- 
ing steadily  overhead,  it  seemed  to  Annesley 
as  if  much  that  had  before  been  unintelligible 
was  now  made  plain  to  him.  He  could  not 
possibly  have  given  expression  to  the  different 
emotions  that  swayed  him,  to  the  different 
thoughts  that  came  to  him,  or  to  the  strange 
flux  and  reflux  of  feeling  that  possessed  him. 
But  all  the  same,  these  things  left  their  mark 
upon  his  life — all  the  same,  he  looked  back  af- 
terward to  this  night  as  .to  one  of  those  peri- 
ods of  transition  which  every  human  soul  must 
undergo.  The  forces  may  be  long  in  marshal- 
ling, the  causes  may  be  long  in  preparing  their 
effects,  but  we  may  know  the  thrill  of  final  issue 
when  it  comes,  even  though  we  may  not  know 
till  long  afterward  the  final  result. 

Annesley  had  no  means  of  judging  what 
length  of  time  they  had  been  on  the  road,  when 
at  last  they  reined  up  before  the  door  of  the 
great  stables  of  Morton  House,  and,  springing 
to  the  ground  himself,  he  received  the  slight, 
swaying  form  of  his  companion  in  his  arms. 

"  Courage,  Miss  Tresham  !  Here  we  are  at 
last!"  he  said,  kindly.  "  Don't  give  way  now, 
after  holding  out  so  well.  Shall  I  send  for 
some  wine  for  you,  or  shall  we  go  to  the  house 
at  once  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go,"  she  answered,  panting  slight- 
ly. "  We  must  not  wait  a  minute.  He — 0  Mr. 
Annesley,  do  you  think  he  is  alive  ?  " 

"  Let  us  trust  so.  But  you  ought  to  hare 
something  to  strengthen  you  before — " 

"  No,"  she  interrupted,  with  feverish  eager- 
ness. "  Take  me  in.  I — I  am  quite  well." 

"Just  as  you  please,"  he  said,  with  that 
consideration  whicli  comes  from  the  heart,  and 
knows,  therefore,  when  it  is  vain  to  press  even 
that  which  is  best  on  an  unwilling  recipient. 
He  drew  her  hand  into  his  arm,  and  she  remem- 
bered afterward  how  gently  and  carefully  he 
led  her  to  the  house,  speaking  now  and  then 
kind  words  of  cheer  and  comfort.  During  the 
last  half-hour  of  their  ride,  he  had  told  her  all 
he  knew  of  what  had  occurred,  and  who  had 
been  St.  John's  adversary  in  the  quarrel  that  had 
ended  so  fatally.  Shocked  she  was,  undoubted- 
ly ;  but  almost  less  so  than  he  had  expected. 
"  It  is  horrible — horrible  for  Mrs.  Gordon — that 
he  should  have  been  killed  there,"  she  said, 
with  a  shudder ;  "  but,  oh,  you  cannot  tell  how 
his  influence  has  led  St.  John  astray,  and  how 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 


much  this  seems  to  me 
That  was  all  she  said  of  the  man  who  had  so 
suddenly  and  so  fearfully  gone  to  his  account.  All 
her  thoughts  seemed  filled  by  her  brother.  An- 
nesley  was  astonished  to  hear  with  how  much 
tenderness  she  spoke  of  him  ;  he  could  not  tell 
how  the  news  of  his  danger  and  extremity  car- 
ried her  heart  back  to  the  days  when  they  had 
been  children  together,  and  loved  each  other  as 
only  children  can  love.  All  the  intermediate 
time  of  terror  and  repulsion,  of  shame  and  dis- 
grace, was  swept  out  of  her  memory.  He  was 
her  brother,  that  was  enough. 

As  they  neared  the  house,  Annesley  pointed 
to  the  light  which  streamed  from  the  windows 
of  Mrs.  Gordon's  room — the  room  where  Katha- 
rine had  spent  the  first  evening  of  their  acquaint- 
ance. 

"  My  cousin's  husband  was  here  this  after- 
noon," he  said.  "  He  must  have  seen  her  in  that 
room,  and,  as  well  as  we  can  judge,  had  just  left 
her,  when — when  this  took  place.  His  body  is 
there  now." 

"  And  she  ?  " 

"Is  with  it." 

The  girl  looked  at  the  light  and  shivered, 
Vaguely  and  dimly  she  wondered  at  the  possible 
depths  of  emotion  existing  so  near  her.  Out  of 
her  own  anxiety,  she  had  time  for  a  throb  of  pity 
toward  the  woman  who,  under  the  roof  that  had 
sheltered  her  girlhood,  received  the  dead  body  of 
the  man  she  had  once  loved,  and,  through  love, 
learned  to  hate. 

"Does  she  know  how — how  it  occurred?" 
she  asked. 

"  She  knows  all  that  we  do,"  Annesley  an- 
swered; "but  that  is  not  much.  This  is  the 
door,  Miss  Tresham." 

He  led  her  into  the  house,  and  the  first  per- 
son whom  they  met  was  Mr.  Warwick. 

"  Thank  Heaven,  you  have  come  at  last ! "  he 
said.  "  I  thought  you  would  be  too  late.  He  is 
sinking  rapidly. — Miss  Tresham  are  you  able  to 
see  him  at  once  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes — at  once,"  she  said. 

"  Then  bring  her  on,  Annesley — this  way." 

He  led  the  way,  and  Annesley  with  Katharine 
followed.  St.  John  had  been  insensible  when 
he  was  brought  into  the  house,  so  they  had 
carried  him  up-stairs,  to  one  of  the  chambers. 
It  chanced  to  be  the  one  that  had  been  occupied 
by  Felix,  and  the  first  thing  that  met  Katharine's 
eye,  as  she  entered  the  door,  was  a  number  of 
boyish  playthings  arranged  carefully  at  the  end 
of  the  room.  The  hobby-horse,  drum,  and  gayly- 


249 

like^  retribution  ! "  j  painted  bow  and  arrows,  made  a  strange  contrirt 
to  a  table  near  by,  which  was  covered  with  sur- 
gical instruments  and  an  open  medicine-case, 
such  as  doctors  practising  in  the  country  always 
carry ;  and  to  the  bed,  with  its  muslin  curtain* 
thrown  completely  over  the  old-fashioned  can- 
opy,  while  the  bandaged  form  of  the  wounded 
man  rested  on  top  of  the  coverings.  Two  doc- 
tors were  in  the  room — the  only  two  of  any  skill 
that  Lagrange  could  boast.  One  of  them  waa 
sitting  by  the  bed,  the  other  stood  by  the  table, 
measuring  out  some  medicine,  when  Katharine 
entered.  Mr.  Warwick  walked  up  to  the  latter. 

"Here  is  Miss  Tresham,  doctor,"  he  said 
"  I  suppose  there  is  no  danger  of  her  exciting  the 
patient  too  much  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  not,"  answered  the  doctor,  a  little 
vngraciously.  He  looked  keenly  and  somewhat 
suspiciously  at  Miss  Tresham.  He  did  not  un- 
derstand matters  at  all,  and  he  did  not  care  to 
conceal  his  resentment  of  this  fact.  Who  was 
Mr.  St.  John  ? — how  had  he  been  shot  ? — what 
was  this  about  a  dead  man  in  the  house  ? — what 
the  deuce  did  this  girl,  whom  he  knew  as  the 
subject  of  a  great  deal  of  Lagrange  gossip,  have 
to  do  with  it  all  ?  Doctors  are  subject  to  the 
infirmities  of  human  curiosity  as  well  as  other 
men,  and  do  not  like  to  be  kept  in  the  dark  a 
whit  better.  Perhaps  this  doctor  liked  it  a  shade 
less,  as  his  tone  showed,  when  he  said,  stiffly: 
"  I  suppose  not — the  patient  is  considerably  past 
being  harmed  by  any  thing." 

"  Oh,  doctor,  is  there  no  hope  ? "  asked  a 
voice,  against  the  pathetic  sweetness  of  which 
even  the  doctor  was  not  proof.  He  glanced 
quickly  at  the  gray  eyes  lifted  to  his  face — then 
looked  away  again. 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  told  her  that  the 
man  must  die,"  be  said,  addressing  Mr.  War- 
wick. 

"  He  did  tell  me — that  is,  I  have  heard  It," 
said  Katharine,  before  the  lawyer  could  speak. 
"  Only  I  thought  I  would  like  to  hear  your  opin- 
ion myself.  He  is  my  brother,"  she  added,  after 
a  momentary  pause.  "  You  will  forgive  roe  for 
asking  how  long  he  can  live?  " 

"  That  is  a  question  which  it  is  hard  for  me 
to  answer,"  snid  the  doctor,  more  gently  than 
might  have  been  expected ;  then  he  shot  aglanc* 
half  questioning,  half  indignant,  at  Mr.  Warwick. 
"  Mr.  St.  John's  wound  is  mortal,"  he  went  on ; 
but  in  these  cases  it  is  hard  to  determine  ex- 
actly when  death  will  ensue,  so  much  depends 
on  the  vital  power  of  the  system.  He  may  live 
two  oMhree  hours — possibly  even  through  the 


£50 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


niglit — or  he  may  die  within  ten  minutes.     I  can- 
not tell" 

"  Which  do  you  think  most  probable  ?  " 

"  As  far  as  I  can  judge,  he  is  sinking  rapidly. 
He  has  already  lived  longer  than  I  anticipated." 

Annesley,  on  whose  arm  she  still  leaned,  felt 
her  shudder  from  head  to  foot;  out  she  said 
nothing.  Her  face  grew  a  shade  whiter,  perhaps, 
and  her  lips  set  themselves  with  painful  rigidity, 
but  that  was  all.  The  doctor  thought  to  himself 
that  she  had  no  feeling.  "  She  calls  the  poor 
man  her  brother,  and  takes  the  news  of  his  cer- 
tain death  like  this ! "  he  thought,  as  she  drew 
her  hand  from  Morton's  arm,  and  crossed  the 
floor  alone,  to  the  side  of  the  bed. 

St.  John  lay  in  what  was  apparently  a  deep 
stupor,  or  what  was,  perhaps,  the  prostration 
which  precedes  dissolution,  and  verges  on  insen- 
sibility. The  haemorrhage  from  his  wound  had 
been  so  excessive  that  his  face  was  bleached  to 
a  deathly  pallor;  but  otherwise  it  showed  no 
signs  of  the  approaching  death  which  the  doctor 
prophesied.  Looking  at  him,  Katharine  could 
scarcely  believe  that  it  was  indeed  so  near,  un- 
til suddenly  a  sharp  convulsion  of  agony  passed 
over  the  face,  and  roused  it  from  its  repose. 
The  lips  sprang  apart,  then  closed  tightly  over  a 
groan,  while  the  eyes  opened  full  on  her  face. 
In  an  instant  she  saw  that  he  was  perfectly  con- 
scious. As  soon  as  the  paroxysm  abated — it  did 
not  last  more  than  a  minute — he  strove  to  speak, 
but,  failing  in  this,  lifted  his  hand,  and  motioned 
her  to  come  nearer.  The  doctor  silently  resigned 
his  seat,  and,  sinking  into  it,  she  bent  her  face 
down  almost  on  a  level  with  his  own,  while  her 
hands  clasped  eagerly  over  the  one  be  had  ex- 
tended. 

"  Don't  try  to  talk,  dear,"  she  said,  gently. 
"  Here  I  am — I  shall  not  leave  you." 

"  You  won't  be  needed  long,"  he  answered. 
His  voice  was  very  weak,  and  had  a  slight  catch 
between  the  words ;  but  otherwise  there  was  no 
change,  and  the  old  mocking  cadence  still  rang  in 
its  notes. 

"  Oh,  St.  John — "  Her  own  voice  broke  down 
in  the  quiver  of  sobs  that  were  hastily  choked 
back.  This  was  neither  time  nor  place  for  them 
— especially  since  the  doctor's  hand  was  laid 
heavily  on  her  shoulder,  and  the  doctor's  voice 
said  in  her  ear,  "  The  least  excitement  will  kill 
him  in  a  minute."  She  fought  hard  for  self-con, 
trol,  and  after  a  time  gained  it.  At  last  she  was 
able  to  say,  quietly,  "  I  will  not  leave  you — but 
pray  keep  quiet.  The  doctor  says  the  least  ex- 
citement is  very  dangerous."  • 


"  Confound  the  doctor !  "  answered  St.  John, 
peevishly,  apparently  quite  unconscious  that  this 
personage  stood  just  by  his  side.  "  What  is  the 
use  of  keeping  quiet?"  he  went  on.  ''Why," 
with  a  singular  inflection  of  contempt,  "  I  know, 
as  well  as  he  does,  that  I'm  done  for !  Only 
there's  one  or  two  things  I  must  say  to  you,  if—- 
if I  can." 

"  Don't  try — oh,  pray  don't  try ! " 

"  I  must,  I  tell  you ! "  This  quite  impatiently 
— then,  more  faintly,  "  Water — my  throat  is  dry — 
I — can  hardly  talk." 

Katharine  turned,  but  the  doctor  was  al- 
ready at  hand,  with  a  glass  of  water  in  which  a 
stimulant  was  infused.  "  He  is  sinking  fast,"  he 
said,  as  he  leaned  over  her.  "  If  he  has  any 
thing  on  his  mind,  let  him  say  it.  He  may  go 
off  any  moment." 

But,  after  drinking  the  water,  St.  John  seemed 
to  sink  back  into  stupor.  Holding  his  hand, 
Katharine  chanced  to  rest  her  fingers  on  the 
pulse,  and  she  was  startled  to  feel  how  weak  and 
slow  it  was.  Life  was  ebbing  fast — even  her 
inexperience  began  to  appreciate  this,  especially 
when  she  noted  that  awful  grayness  which  is  the 
first  shadow  of  approaching  dissolution,  and 
which  no  one,  who  has  seen  it  once,  can  ever 
forget  or  mistake,  stealing  over  the  fnce.  He 
looked  very  handsome  as  he  lay  with  closed 
eyes,  and  slightly-heaving  chest.  All  that  was 
repulsive  about  the  face  seemed  to  have  been 
fined  away  as  by  a  sharp  chisel.  The  features 
stood  out  with  the  pure  clearness  of  sculptured 
marble,  and  the  dark  lashes  and  brows  made  the 
only  contrast  to  the  deadly-white  pallor  of  the 
complexion.  Mr.  Warwick  and  Annesley  ex- 
changed a  glance — was  it  only  imagination,  or 
did  they  notice  a  strange,  subtile  likeness  coming 
out  on  this  face,  to  that  other  face  lying  even 
more  still  and  white,  below  ?  Just  now,  they 
thought  It  was  imagination,  but  afterward — when 
the  full  horror  of  the  truth  was  known  to  them — 
they  knew  that  fancy  had  not  played  them  false, 
but  that  the  hand  of  death  had  brought  out  with 
a  force  not  to  be  mistaken  the  trace  and  the 
proof  of  common  blood. 

Several  minutes  passed,  then  Mr.  Warwick 
came  up  to  Katharine,  and,  standing  in  the  shade 
behind  her  chair,  l»ent  down  and  spoke. 

"If  he  rouses  again,  you  must  ask  him  how 
this  occurred,"  he  said.  "  The  other  man  ia 
dead,  and  it  is  important  that  we  should  know." 

"  Very  well,"  she  answered,  under  her  breath 
— and  just  at  that  moment,  with  a  slight  start, 
St.  John  opened  his  eyes. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 


251 


"  Katharine — are  you  there  ?  "  he  asked,  his 
f  oice  having  become  much  weaker  since  he  spoke 
last. 

"  Yes,  I  am  here,"  she  answered,  bending  for- 
ward so  that  he  could  see  her.  "  Is  there  any 
thing  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

He  muttered  something,  but  so  low  that  she 
did  not  catch  his  words.  Then,  while  she  was 
still  straining  her  ears,  he  turned  his  head,  and 
said  abruptly,  "  Is  Gordon  dead  ?  " 

Katharine  had  been  so  entirely  unprepared 
for  such  a  question,  that  she  did  not  know  what 
to  reply  ;  she  did  not  know  what  the  effect  might 
be  of  the  unsoftened  truth.  She  looked  at  the 
doctor ;  but  the  doctor's  face  was  non-expressive 
— at  Annesley,  but  there  was  nothing  to  direct 
her  there.  It  was  not  until  Mr.  Warwick  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  "  Tell  him,"  that  she  found  cour- 
age to  answer. 

"  Yes,  St.  John  ;  he  is  dead." 

"  You  are  sure  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  sure." 

There  was  silence  after  this.  St.  John  drew 
a  deep  breath — to  every  one  of  the  bystand- 
ers it  sounded  almost  like  a  sigh  of  relief — and 
lay  quiet  for  some  time.  Katharine  was  on  the 
point  of  speaking  again,  when  he  anticipated 
her,  uttering  his  words  faintly,  and  with  evident 
effort. 

"So  that  is  settled,"  he  said.  "Well,  I 
didn't  mean  to  kill  him ;  but  I  should  be  a  cant- 
ing hypocrite  if  I  said  it  was  not  a  good  riddance 
to  everybody !  He  tried  me  too  far,"  he  went 
on,  gathering  a  little  more  strength.  "  It  was 
all  his  fault — not  mine.  He  was  in  one  of  the 
devil's  own  rages,  and  I  was  desperate.  They 
have  told  you  all  about  it,  I  suppose,  Katharine." 

"  How  could  they  ? "  she  answered  sadly. 
"  Nobody  knows  any  thing  about  it." 

"  Don't  they  ?  "  said  he,  with  the  old  mock- 
ing sneer  on  his  white  lip.  "  It  would  be  a  pity 
if  their  curiosity  should  never  be  gratified.  Of 
course,  you  know  how  it  was,  though.  When  a 
man  is  hungry,  and  footsore,  and  penniless,  he  is 
next  to  a  wild  beast,  and  I  was  all  those  things, 
a  few  hours  ago.  I  knew  Gordon  would  be  here 
about  this  time  ;  and  I  had  been  wandering  about 
the  country  for  days,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout 
for  him.  At  last  I  met  a  boy— to-day,  was  it  ? — 
who  had  driven  him  to  Tallahoma.  Then  I  came 
on  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  I  thought  Morton 
House  would  be  the  best  place  to  find  him— the 
safest  place  for  me,  that  is.  Just  as  I  got  to  the 
terrace,  he  came  down  the  steps.  It  seemed  he 
had  found  out  that  the  child  was  gone,  and  that 


his  wife  was  out  of  his  power.  If  you  knew  any 
thing  about  him,  you'd  know  what  sort  of  a  seen* 
we  had  then.  He  was  out  of  his  head  with  fury, 
especially  against  me,  who  had  brought  him  here 
for  nothing,  while  I  was  just  as  ready  as  not  to 
have  out  all  the  old  scores !  There  was  plenty 
of  them,  for  I  had  been  his  cat's-paw  for  many  a 
day,  with  most  of  the  labor,  and  all  the  risk, 
and  hardly  a  taste  of  the  profit.  I  told  him  lie 
should  not  stir  till  he  had  promised  to  give  mo 
something — any  thing — to  live  on,  and,  in  that 
case,  I  engaged  never  to  come  near  him  again. 
He  had  not  sense  enough  to  close  with  the  offer 
— considering  all  that  had  gone  before,  an  amaz- 
ingly liberal  one,  I  can  tell  you — but  he  dared  to 
say  that  he  would  give  half  his  fortune  to  take 
me  to  the  gallows,  but  not  a  penny  to  keep  me 
from  it.  At  that,  I  lost  my  temper.  I — oh,  this 
cursed  throat !  Give  me  some  water." 

It  was  given  to  him,  and,  after  drinking,  he 
went  on  of  his  own  accord : 

"  You  need  not  think  I  fired  without  provo- 
cation at  an  unarmed  man.  I  did  not  mean  to 
use  the  pistol — in  fact,  it  was  in  my  pocket,  and 
I  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  I  would  not  have 
touched  it,  if  I  had  not  been  at  a  terrible  dis- 
advantage. But  he  fought  like  a  tiger,  and  he 
soon  got  the  better  of  me.  In  the  scuffle  the 
d — d  thing  went  off,  and  gave  me  this  wound. 
Then  I  knew  I  was  done  for,  and  the  devil  en- 
tered me,  and  I  was  determined  to  kill  him.  I 
managed  to  draw  it,  and  fired  twice.  I — I  don't 
believe  he  stirred  afterward." 

"  He  is  exciting  himself  too  much,"  said  doc- 
tor No.  2,  in  the  midst  of  the  pause  which  fol- 
lowed the  last  words — words  over  which  the 
dying  man's  voice  had  sunk  into  inarticulate 
weakness.  "  He  will  kill  himself  in  ten  minutes, 
at  this  rate !  Miss  Tresham,  you  must  not  let 
him  talk." 

"  But  I  will  talk,"  interrupted  St.  John.  "  If 
I  choose  to  kill  myself  in  ten  minutes,  whose 
business  is  it  ?  Not  yours,  at  any  rite !— Katha- 
rine, I— I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

"  Had  you  not  better  be  quiet,  dear  ?  " 

"  I  can't  think  what  it  was" — a  strange  gasp- 
ing and  cntching  was  now  audible  in  the  weak 
voice,  the  gray  shade  stole  more  plainly  over  the 
face,  and  an  awe  settled  on  those  around  him. 
« I— yes,  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  I  am  sorry 
I  have  been  such  a  drag  and  terror  on  your  life. 
I  don't  know,  but — but  it  seems  now  ss  if  I 
might— perhaps— do  a  little  better,  if  it  were  to 
live  over  again.  It  is  too  late  now  for  nny  tiling 
of  that  sort ;  but— I  am  sorry." 


252 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"  Oh,  St.  John ! "  The  tears  came  now  in  a 
hot,  burning  shower,  as  she  sank  on  her  knees 
by  the  bed.  "  Oh,  my  brother — my  dear,  dear 
brother  !  don't  you  know — can't  you  tell — how 
little  it  all  seems  ?  It  was  my  fault  too — don't 
think  it  was  all  yours.  If  it  were — oh,  if  it  were 
to  live  over,  I  should  be  more  patient,  more  lov- 
ing, more  kind — then  all  might  be  different.  But, 
dear  love,  try  to  think  of  your  soul,  and  of  God. 
Oh,  remember  how  near  death  is !  St.  John, 
have  you  quite  forgotten  and  disowned  the  dear 
Lord  who  died  for  you  ?  Oh,  try,  try  to  make 
one  good  act  of  contrition — it  is  all  you  can  do, 
but  He  is  strong  enough  to  do  the  rest." 

"  I— cannot." 

How  strangely  his  faltering  tones  contrasted 
with  her  passionate  accents !  All  was  silent 
around.  The  figures  about  the  bed  might  have 
been  of  graven  stone,  for  all  the  sign  of  life  they 
gave  by  word  or  movement.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
forces  of  Good  and  Evil  had  met  to  fight  their 
last  awful  combat  over  this  erring  soul. 

"  Oh,  try !  "  she  cried,  "  for  God's  sake,  try  I 
Think — think  that  you  may  have  to  face  Him  in 
another  minute  !  You  are  sorry  for  all  this  life 
of  sin  and  violence,  are  you  not  ?  " 

He  murmured  something  in  reply.  The  oth- 
ers could  not  hear  it,  but  she  did.  Whatever  it 
was,  it  must  have  been  affirmative,  for  she  lifted 
a  crucifix,  which  was  attached  to  a  rosary  at  her 
girdle,  and  held  it  before  his  eyes.  "  Try  to  fol- 
low me,"  she  said,  and  then  she  poured  forth  a 
fervent  Act  of  Contrition.  It  was  only  the  ordi- 
nary form,  but  her  voice  uttered  it  with  a  pas- 
sion and  pathos  that  touched  the  heart  more 
than  any  pomp  of  language  could  have  done.  It 
was  the  very  cry  of  an  anguished,  shipwrecked 
soul,  mounting  in  its  last  dire  extremity  to  Him 
who  once  ended  His  bitter  passion  on  Calvary. 
St.  John  tried  to  follow  ;  but  strength  was  fail- 
ing fast.  When  she  held  the  crucifix  to  his  lips, 
he  kissed  the  sacred  figure  fastened  thereon  ; 
but  he  could  not  articulate  any  longer.  The 
awful  moment  of  final  agony  had  come.  God 
and  the  pitying  angels  only  knew  what  strong 
and  powerful  wrestling  in  passionate  supplication 
the  girl  beside  him  did,  during  that  short  time. 
One  familiar  prayer  after  another  rose  from  her 
lips ;  and  at  last,  by  a  sudden  impulse,  she  began 
the  "  Memorare."  In  a  second,  something  like 
the  light  of  conscious  life  flashed  into  the  fail- 
ing eyes.  The  lids  lifted,  the  lips  faintly  smiled 
— the  sound  of  the  long-forgotten  but  still  fa- 
miliar words  had  apparently  taken  the  thoughts 
of  the  dying  man  far  back  into  his  childhood. 


"Katy — little  Katy,"  he  murmured.  And 
just  at  the  words :  "  Oh,  let  it  not  be  said  that  I 
have  perished  where  no  one  ever  found  but  grace 
and  salvation,"  there  came  one  strong  shiver  and 
all  was  over. 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

IN   THE   DAWN. 

THE  first  gray  chill  of  daylight  was  stealing 
over  the  terrace  and  gardens  of  the  house,  when 
Mrs.  Gordon's  door  at  last  opened,  and  coming 
out  she  asked  a  servant,  who  was  loitering  and 
shivering  in  the  hall,  where  Mr.  Warwick  was. 

"  He's  in  the  dining-room,  ma'am,"  answered 
the  boy.  "  Mus'  I  tell  him  you  want  him  ?  " 

"  No— I  will  go  myself." 

She  walked  a  few  steps,  then  stopped  and 
turned  round. 

"  Is  he  quite  alone  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Is  there 
nobody  with  him  ?  " 

"  Nobody  at  all,  ma'am  ;  the  doctor  is  gone, 
and  Mass  Morton,  he  went  up-stairs  a  minute 
ago." 

Thus  reassured,  she  walked  forward,  and 
opened  the  dining-room  door.  A  fire  was  burn- 
ing on  the  hearth,  and  throwing  its  flickering 
light  over  the  walls  panelled  in  old-fashioned 
style,  and  the  portraits  hung  round  them.  It  also 
threw  a  fantastic  glow  over  the  face  of  Mr.  War- 
wick, who  had  leaned  back  in  a  deep  arm-chair, 
and  quietly  fallen  asleep.  This  sleep  was  only  a 
light  doze,  however,  for  the  opening  of  the  door 
roused  him  at  once,  and  he  started  when  he  saw 
the  figure  that  came  across  the  floor  toward 
him. 

"  Mrs.  Gordon  ! "  he  exclaimed,  not  quite 
sure  in  the  dim  light  whether  or  not  his  sight 
played  him  false. 

"  Don't  let.  me  disturb  you,"  said  Mrs.  Gor- 
don, as  he  rose.  "  If  I  had  known  that  you  were 
sleeping,  I  should  not  have  come  in.  You  must 
be  very  tired." 

"  No — not  tired  at  all,"  he  said,  moving  a 
chair  toward  her.  "  Pray  sit  down — you  look 
very  weak.  Can  I  get  any  thing  for  you — any 
thing  in  the  way  ofi  stimulant  or  refreshment?  ' 

Her  pale  lips  answered,  but  no  sound  was 
audible.  She  shook  her  head,  and,  sinking  into 
the  chair  he  had  placed  for  her,  motioned  him  to 
resume  his  own  seat.  As  he  turned  to  do  so,  he 
perceived  the  pale,  gray  daylight  which  bcgnn  to 
struggle  through  the  blinds  of  a  window  at  the 


IN  THE  DA.VN. 


253 


end  of  the  room,  and,  walking  to  it,  threw  them 
open.  He  felt  as  if  it  might  be  possible  to  throw 
off  something  of  the  ghastly  horror  of  the  night 
with  these  first  tokens  of  God's  day. 

When  he  came  back  to  the  fire,  he  was  star- 
tled to  see  the  change  which  the  last  few  hours 
had  made  in  Mrs.  Gordon's  appearance.  She 
looked  inconceivably  old  and  haggard,  as  she  sat 
there  in  the  pale  morning  light — inconceivably 
worse  than  he  could  have  imagined  that  even  the 
long  watches  of  this  fearful  night  would  have 
made  her  look.  Before  he  could  speak,  she  an- 
ticipated him. 

"  Sit  down,"  she  said.  "  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you,  and  I  can  say  it  better  now  than 
hereafter."  She  paused  a  moment,  then  added, 
gently,  "  Is  that  poor  man  up-stairs  dead  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  a  little  surprised,  not  at 
the  question  itself,  but  at  the  tone  of  it.  "  Yes, 
he  is  dead — he  has  been  dead  for  several  hours." 

She  gave  a  deep  sigh,  and,  leaning  back, 
closed  her  eyes.  There  are  few  stranger  things 
in  this  strange  world  than  the  similarity  and  asso- 
ciation of  sound.  This  sigh  immediately  recalled 
to  Mr.  Warwick's  mind  the  sigh  which  St.  John 
had  uttered  on  hearing  of  Gordon's  death.  In 
both  there  was  a  cadence  of  unmistakable  re- 
lief which  his  ear  was  able  to  detect,  though  it 
had  been  mingled  with  a  singular  chord  of  other 
emotions.  Some  instinct  warned  him  that  he 
was  not  yet  at  the  end  of  this  night's  eventful 
history — that  there  was  something  yet  to  hear, 
something  yet  to  do,  before  the  sun  should  rise. 
Thinking  of  this,  he  did  not  observe  that  Mrs. 
Gordon  unclosed  her  eyes,  and  when  she  spoke, 
her  voice  startted  him. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Tresham  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Was  she  sent  for  ?  Is  she  here  ?  " 

"  Miss  Tresham  is  here,"  he  answered — then 
added,  after  a  second,  "  she  is  lying  down,  I 
believe.  The  agitation  which  she  underwent 
at  her  brother's  death  was  too  much  for  her. 
He  had  scarcely  ceased  to  breathe,  when  she 
fainted." 

"  But  she  has  recovered — has  she  not?  " 

"  So  the  servants  tell  me.  I  have  not  seen 
her  since  I  carried  her  out  of  the  room." 

"  Babette  is  an  excellent  nurse,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon,  with  more  interest  than  he  had  expect- 
ed. "  Has  she  seen  her  ?  " 

"  She  is  with  her  now,  I  think." 

"  Ah ! "  with  a  faint  sigh,  "  then  she  is  in 

good  hands.     There  is  no  fear  of  her  dying,"  she 

went  on,  a  little  bitterly.     "Neither  grief  nor 

trouble  is  merciful  enough  to  kill.     I  will  speak 

17 


of  her  again,  after  a  while.  Now,  I  should  liko 
to  ask  you  something  else.  Did  he — did  St 
John — give  any  account  before  he  died  of  how 
all  this  occurred  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  just  before  he  died,  he  told  his  sister." 
He  then  related  all  that  the  dying  man  had  said, 
adding,  when  it  was  over :  "  Every  thing  goes  to 
corroborate  this  statement.  The  time  at  which 
Morton  met  him — the  time  we  occupied  in  com- 
ing from  Tallahoma— the  shots  we  heard,  and  the 
condition  in  which  we  found  the  two  men.  The 
doctors  also  say  that  the  position  of  the  wound 
proves  it  was  given  accidentally  and  in  the  man- 
ner described." 

"  Then  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  killed  my — 
my  husband  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that.  I  can  only  ask 
you  to  think  for  a  moment  of  his  provocation, 
and  you  will  scarcely  be  able  to  condemn  him, 
as  we  condemn  a  cold-blooded  murderer." 

"  Condemn  him  !  "  Her  tone  and  manner 
surprised  the  lawyer  so  much  that  he  could  only 
gaze  at  her  in  astonishment.  Excitement  sprang 
into  the  eyes,  passion  quivered  in  the  voice — 
some  overpowering  emotion  seemed  to  seize  and 
shake  her  form  from  head  to  foot.  "  Condemn 
him !  My  God !  I  can  only  pity  him,  till  pity 
grows  into  pain.  I  can  only  look  with  horror— 
as  I  have  looked  all  this  night — on  the  terribk 
retribution  which  even  in  this  world  crime  some- 
times works  for  itself  1 " 

Was  she  mad  ?  Had  the  shock  proved  too 
much  for  her  mind  ?  Mr.  Warwick  almost 
feared  that  it  had,  as  he  met  those  burning  eyes. 
The  daylight  began  to  broaden  by  this  time,  and 
he  saw  more  plainly  the  ravages  of  fierce  emo- 
tion, already  suffered,  on  that  white,  haggard 
face. 

"Try  to  be  quiet,  Mrs.  Gordon,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  afraid  I  ought  not  to  have  told  you  all 
this.  You  have  undergone  too  much  excite- 
ment. You  are  not  yourself.  Let  me  beg  you 
to  rest — to  talk  no  more." 

"  I  must,"  she  answered.  "  It  is  a  work  of 
justice,  and  it  must  be  done.  Don't  fear  about 
me.  I  shall  have  strength  enough  to  do  it,  and, 
after  that,  nothing  matters.  It  does  not  even 
matter  if  I  never  see  Felix  again,  for  he  is  safe 
now.  Does  that  sound  horrible  ?  Should  not  I 
think  of  it  now,  while  he  lies  dead  ?  " 

"  It  is  natural  that  you  could  not  avoid  think- 
ing of  it,"  he  said.  "  But  let  me  entreat  you — ' 

He  spoke  in  vain.  She  did  not  even  hear 
him,  but  went  on  with  what  she  was  going  to 
say : 


254 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"  Was  it  yesterday  afternoon  that  you  were 
here?  Every  thing  appears  BO  long  ago  tbat 
happened  before  he  came.  Well,  I  fell  asleep 
after  you  left,  and,  when  I  woke,  he  was  entering 
the  room.  I  told  him  that  Felix  was  gone,  and 
that  I — I  defied  him  !  It  seems  to  me  that  was 
all  I  said ;  at  least " — passing  her  hand  wearily 
across  her  brow — "  I  cannot  remember  any  thing 
else.  By  various  arguments  he  tried  to  induce 
me  to  surrender  the  child ;  but,  when  he  found 
that  every  thing  else  was  useless,  he  threatened 
me  with  the  entire  loss  of  his  inheritance.  I 
knew  that  he  could  not  possibly  alienate  this, 
and  I  told  him  so.  Then  " — she  shuddered  vis- 
ibly— "  then  he  said  I  was  mistaken — that  he 
could  alienate  it,  that  Felix  was  not  his  eldest 
Bon,  that  there  was  another — another  who — " 

She  stopped — so  ghastly  pale,  that  he  was 
about  to  rise  and  go  to  her  assistance,  when  she 
lifted  her  hand  with  a  gesture  which  signified 
"  Keep  still,"  and  went  on  : 

"  He  said  he  had  another — a  son  whom  he  had 
never  acknowledged — the  child  of  an  early,  pri- 
vate marriage.  He  told  me  the  history  of  that 
marriage,  and  it  was  so  much  in  character  with 
the  record  of  his  whole  life  that  1  could  not 
doubt  it.  But  conceive  what  I  felt  when  he  said 
that  this  son  was  the  man  whom  I  have  known 
as  his  partner  and  instrument  in  dishonor  and 
crime!" 

Mr.  Warwick  started  to  his  feet.  The  horror 
of  the  revelation  was  too  much  even  for  his  self- 
control. 

"Good  God,  Mrs.  Gordon!"  he  cried.  "You 
don't  mean  that  it  was — " 

She  looked  up  and  finished  the  sentence  as 
he  paused.  "I  mean  that  it  was  St.  John!" 
she  said. 

"  It  is  impossible  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  answered. 

"But  have  you  thought — have  you  consid- 
ered?" 

"  The  horror  of  it  ?  Yes,  I  have  thought  of 
it  all.  I  scarcely  think  this  tragedy  has  shown 
it  to  me  more  plainly  than  I  saw  it  when  he 
•poke — when  he  told  me  who  St.  John  was." 

Mr.  Warwick  sat  down  again.  A  chill  seemed 
creeping  over  him  which  he  tried  vainly  to  shake 
off.  It  was  horrible !  He  began  to  appreciate  it 
a  little — but  only  by  degrees.  It  was  not  a  thing 
to  take  in  all  at  once.  He  could  not  feel,  all  at 
once,  how  that  woman  had  felt  as  she  faced  the 
terrible  secret  through  the  long  watches  of  the 
night — he  could  not  all  at  once  realize  the 
real  tie  which  united  those  two  men,  both  of 


whom  were  lying  dead  undei  the  rcof  of  Morton 
House. 

"  There  is  one  thing  to  be  grateful  for,"  h« 
said,  at  last.  "  That  wretched  man,  St.  John, 
died  in  ignorance  of  this." 

"  And  therefore  1  asked  you  if  he  was  dead," 
she  answered.  "  I  felt  that  it  was  impossible  to 
utter  the  truth — even  to  you — while  he  lived. 
If  all  ended  with  him,  I  should  let  the  horrible 
secret  die  and  be  buried  in  the  grave  of  the  man 
who  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  life 
worked  little  beside  ill.  But — there  is  some  one 
else  to  be  considered." 

"  Miss  Tresham  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Tresham.     She  must  be  told." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked,  eagerly.  "  Why  should 
you  distress  her  by  such  a  terrible  story  ?  Why 
not  be  merciful,  and  never  suffer  her  to  suspect 
it?" 

"  I  have  thought  of  that.  But,  granting  that 
it  would  be  a  merciful  concealment,  it  is  one 
which  I  have  no  right  to  make.  It  is  her  right 
to  know  this  story ;  and  I  am  sure  you  would 
not  be  willing  to  accept  the  responsibility  of 
keeping  it  from  her.  Besides,  I  have  wronged 
her  very  much,  and  I  can  only  make  reparation 
by  means  of  this  explanation." 

"  But  what  good  end  will  be  gained  ?  I  do 
not  see." 

"  Do  you  not  see  that  I  cannot  suffei  her  to 
remain  in  her  present  position — she  who  is  my 
husband's  daughter,  and  Felix's  half- sister? 
And  do  you  think  that  she  would  be  likely  to  ac- 
cept any  thing  from  me  unless  she  was  made 
aware  of  her  own  claim  upon  me  ? — unless  she 
knows  that  she  is  a  Gordon  ?  " 

"  But  you  are  not  certain  of  this,"  he  per- 
sisted. "  You  have  only  your  husband's  asser- 
tion, and — and  the  story  may  have  been  devised 
merely  to  terrify  you." 

"  I  have  told  you  already  that  I  am  absolute- 
ly certain  of  its  truth.  If  you  wish  to  be  con- 
vinced, however,  go  and  bring  Miss  Tresham 
here.  Her  answers  to  two  or  three  questions 
will  be  sufficient." 

"  Bring  Miss  Tresham  here  !  "  he  repeated, 
looking  absolutely  aghast.  "  I  must  really  re- 
monstrate against  this,  Mrs.  Gordon,"  he  went 
on.  "  Neither  M#ss  Tresham  nor  yourself  are  in 
a  condition  to  bear  further  excitement.  Such  a 
story  would  be  a  fearful  shock  to  her.  I  must 
beg  you  to  defer  it." 

To  his  surprise,  she  answered  by  rising  to 
her  feet.  "Come  with  me,"  she  snid,  walking 
toward  the  dooi. 


IN   THE  DAWN 


255 


Half  mechanically  he  followed.  She  crossed 
the  hall,  and  led  the  way  into  the  apartment 
where  she  had  spent  the  night.  It  was  the  sit. 
ting-room  which  he  knew  well.  On  the  couch 
where  he  had  left  her  the  afternoon  previous 
— the  couch  where  she  had  been  sleeping  when 
her  husband  entered  —  the  body  of  the  dead 
man  lay,  with  a  shawl  thrown  over  the  figure, 
while  the  face  remained  uncovered.  Before  leav- 
ing the  room,  Mrs.  Gordon  had  extinguished  sev- 
eral candles  on  a  table  near  by,  and  opened  the 
blinds  of  the  window  through  which  he  had  en- 
tered. It  looked  toward  the  east,  and  as  much 
of  daylight  as  there  was,  streamed  freely  into 
the  apartment — streamed  over  the  couch  and  the 
white  face  pillowed  on  its  cushions. 

She  moved  so  as  to  command  a  view  of  this 
face,  and  motioned  him  to  approach.  He  did  so, 
and  thus,  for  the  first  time,  saw  clearly  in  death 
the  man  whom  he  had  never  seen  in  life. 
Handsome  as  that  face  had  always  been,  it  was 
something  far  more  than  handsome  now — it  was 
almost  beautiful,  under  the  refining  touch  of 
death,  and  with  the  peculiar  serenity  of  expres- 
sion which  sometimes  comes  to  the  clay  when 
the  spirit  has  left  it.  But  that  which  struck  Mr. 
Warwick  at  once,  and  startled  him  most  strange- 
ly, was  the  likeness  to  St.  John — as  St.  John's 
face  had  reminded  him  of  this,  though  he  had 
only  seen  the  latter  hastily  and  indistinctly. 
There  had  been  no  likeness  between  them  in 
life — even  now,  the  whole  cast  of  feature  was  so 
entirely  dissimilar  that  it  was  difficult  to  deter- 
mine where  the  resemblance  was,  and  in  what  it 
consisted.  But  no  one  could  possibly  have 
failed  to  perceive  that  there  was  a  resemblance 
— that,  in  some  subtile  manner,  the  blood  which 
they  owned  in  common  asserted  itself,  and 
stamped  each  face  with  a  token  which  even 
the  most  superficial  gazer  must  have  observed. 
Mr.  Warwick  certainly  observed  it,  and  it  ban- 
ished from  his  mind  the  last  doubt  of  the  story 
Mrs.  Gordon  had  told  him.  She  was  standing 
by  him,  when  he  said,  half  unconsciously : 

"  It  is  true.     It  is  there." 

" So  you  see  it,  too ? "  she  said.  "I  brought 
you  for  this  purpose,"  she  added,  after  a  mo- 
ment. "We  will  go  now.  I— I  cannot  talk 
here." 

She  led  the  way  again  to  the  door,  and  again 
he  followed  her.  They  were  in  the  dining-room, 
when  she  spoke  next. 

"  That  was  why  I  took  you  in — to  show  you 
the  likeness  which  death  has  brought  out  so 
•trongly,"  she  said.  "  The  perception  of  this 


resemblance  first  made  me  think  of  telling  HIM 
Tresham  the  terrible  truth  at  once.  Remember, 
I  have  not  the  least  proof  of  the  story,  save  my 
own  word,  and — and  that.  But  I  am  sure  it 
would  be  impossible  for  her  to  look  at  that  face 
and  refuse  to  believe  me." 

"I  agree  with  you  that  far,  but  why  be  m 
such  haste  ? — why  not  rest,  yourself,  and  let  her 
rest  ?  A  few  hours  hence — " 

"  Can  you  answer  for  the  change  which  an 
hour  may  make  in  that  face?  And  will  the 
force  of  the  blow  be  less  great  to-morrow  than 
to-day  ?  " 

He  saw  that  she  was  resolved ;  so  he  did 
what  it  would  have  been  wisest  to  have  done  a't 
first — he  submitted. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  for  her,  and,  if  possible, 
bring  her  here.  But  first,  one  moment — give 
me  a  pencil  and  a  piece  of  paper." 

Somewhat  puzzled,  he  produced  a  pencil  and 
that  inevitable  last  resource  for  writing  emergen- 
cies with  a  man — the  back  of  a  letter. 

"Will  that  do?"  he  asked. 

"  That  will  do,"  she  answered.  She  wrote 
a  few  words,  then  tore  off  the  strip  of  paper, 
folded  it,  and,  greatly  to  his  surprise,  handed  it 
to  him.  "  Keep  it,"  she  said,  "  and  when  I  ask 
Miss  Tresham  one  or  two  questions  which  I  must 
ask  her,  see  if  her  answers  correspond  with 
what  is  written  there.  Now,  go  and  bring 
her.  Remember — bring  her,  if  she  can  possi- 
bly come." 

With  those  words — words  the  earnestness  of 
which  it  was  impossible  to  disregard — sounding 
in  his  ears,  he  went  up-stairs.  As  he  was  look- 
ing round  for  a  servant  to  send  with  a  message 
to  Katharine,  he  saw  Annesley  standing  with  his 
back  to  him  at  a  large  window  which  ended  the 
upper  passage,  and  overlooked  the  front  en- 
trance. He  went  to  him  immediately,  and 
touched  his  shoulder. 

"  Do  you  know  how  Miss  Tresham  is  ?  "  he 
asked,  as  the  young  man  turned  quickly  round. 

"  Miss  Tresham ! "  repeated  Morton.  "  Did 
you  ask  how  she  is,  or  where  she  is  ?  " 

"How  she  is,  of  course.  I  thought  yon 
might  have  heard." 

"  She  is  much  better — so  much  better,  that 
she  is  in  that  room  "—he  nodded  in  the  direction 
of  the  chamber  where  St.  John  had  died—"  I 
was  staying  there,  but  she  came  in,  and  beggei 
me  to  leave  her  alone  with — with  the  body." 

"  And  is  she  there  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  there  now." 


256 


•MORTON   HOUSL. 


To  Annesley'8  surprise,  Mr.  Warwick  turned 
and  walked  into  the  room  thus  indicated. 

Every  thing  had  been  put  in  order,  and  the 
chamber,  seen  in  the  light  of  early  dawn,  looked 
singularly  •calm  and  peaceful  when  he  entered. 
The  white  bed,  with  the  motionless  figure  upon 
it,  occupied  the  centre  of  the  floor,  and  candles 
still  burned  at  the  head  and  foot.  By  the  side, 
Katharine  knelt  with  the  little  crucifix  in  her 
hands,  on  which  the  dead  man's  last  glance  had 
been  fixed.  It  was  a  touching  picture,  the  law- 
yer thought,  as  he  paused  a  moment,  with  un- 
conscious reverence,  on  the  threshold.  Twelve 
hours  before,  and  how  great  had  been  his  scorn, 
how  profound  his  contempt  for  that  man  ! — now 
the  great  sanctification  of  death  had  come,  and  he 
lowered  his  voice,  and  softened  his  tread,  even  in 
presence  of  that  poor  forsaken  dust.  Truly  we 
live  in  the  midst  of  mystery  —  who  shall  ex- 
plain even  this  ? 

Katharine  had  heard  his  step,  light  as  it  was, 
and,  rising  to  her  feet,  she  looked  round.  When 
she  saw  who  it  was,  she  smiled  a  faint,  pitiful 
sort  of  smile,  and  motioned  him  to  draw  nearer. 

"  Come  and  see,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the 
still  face.  "  Does  that  look  as  if  it  had  ever 
known  violence  or  sin  ?  " 

Certainly  it  did  not.  Even  more  marked 
than  on  the  face  below — because  here  the  end 
had  been  less  sudden — was  the  peculiarly  serene 
expression  which  always  follows  death  from  gun- 
shot-wounds. The  placid  lips  seemed  almost 
about  to  smile,  and  on  the  brow,  and  around  the 
closed  eyes,  there  was  a  seal  of  ineffable  calm — 
calm  almost  like  that  "  pathetic  peace  of  God  " 
which,  on  the  faces  of  those  who  in  the  beautiful 
language  of  Holy  Writ  have  "  fallen  on  sleep," 
sometimes  hushes  into  awe  the  very  sobs  and 
tears  of  mourning.  But  here — even  as  below — 
was  the  likeness — intensified,  if  possible,  since 
he  had  noticed  it  first.  It  startled  him  at  once 
into  a  remembrance  of  the  errand  on  which  he 
had  come. 

"  Miss  Trei?ham,"  he  said,  "  Mrs.  Gordon  is 
very  anxious  to  see  you.  Will  you  come  to  her  ?  " 

Much  to  his  surprise,  for  he  had  expected  to 
meet  with  some  difficulty,  Katharine  assented  at 
once. 

"I  can  do  nothing  here,"  she  said,  mournfully 
— "  nothing,  save  pray.  I  am  only  too  glad  if  I 
can  be  of  the  least  comfort  to  Mrs.  Gordon.  Is 
she  very  much  prostrated,  Mr.  Warwick  ?  " 

"She  is  supported  by  excitement  now,"  he 
answered.  "  I  am  afraid  she  will  be  terribly 
prostrated  when  it  is  over." 


That  was  all  that  was  exchanged.  Anneslej 
looked  surprised,  when  they  passed  him  on  their 
way  down-stairs  ;  but  he  said  nothing,  and  the 
silence  lasted  until  they  reached  the  dining- 
room.  Then — before  opening  the  door — Mr. 
Warwick  thought  it  well  to  give  a  slight  warning 
to  his  companion. 

"  Don't  be  astonished,"  he  said,  "  if  Mrs.  Gor- 
don asks  you  some  questions  that  do  not  seem 
to  you  exactly  relevant.  She  has  a  good  reason 
for  doing  so,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  confer  a  fa- 
vor on  her  by  answering  them  frankly." 

"  I — of  course  I  will,  if  I  can,"  said  Katha- 
rine, already  much  astonished. 

After  this,  he  opened  the  door,  and  they 
walked  in.  Mrs.  Gordon  was  sitting  by  the  fire, 
where  he  had  left  her ;  but  she  looked  up  when 
they  entered.  Then  rising,  she  advanced  a  few 
steps,  and  held  out  her  hands  to  Katharine,  with 
a  grace  which,  even  at  that  moment,  was  some- 
what stately. 

"  Miss  Tresham,"  she  said,  in  the  rich,  sweet 
voice  which  had  charmed  Katharine  when  she 
heard  it  first,  "  I  cannot  claim  your  sympathy, 
nor  offer  my  own  in  the  grief  that  has  fallen 
upon  us,  until  I  have  asked  you  to  forgive  me." 

Notwithstanding  the  grace  and  the  stateliness, 
there  was  much  of  hesitation  both  in  her  voice 
and  manner — for  she  remembered  the  day  at 
Mrs.  Marks's  when  she  had  last  seen  Katharine, 
and  she  did  not  know  how  her  advances  were 
likely  to  be  received.  She  need  have  felt  no 
doubt  on  this  score.  Almost  before  she  finished 
speaking,  those  outstretched  hands  were  taken 
eagerly  and  warmly. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Gordon,"  said  the  girl,  gently, 
"  there  is  no  need  to  utter  such  a  word.  I  hnve 
nothing  to  forgive.  I  can  only  love  and  pity 
you — if  you  will  let  me." 

It  was  so  sweetly,  so  simply,  so  earnestly 
said,  that,  by  a  sudden  impulse,  the  elder  woman 
opened  her  arms.  In  a  second,  the  first  tears 
which  either  of  them  had  shed,  flowed  together. 

Mr.  Warwick  walked  away  to  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  It  was  a  very  long  apartment,  and 
he  might  almost  have  been  out  of  it,  for  all  that 
he  heard  of  the  words  spoken,  or  the  tears  and 
sobs  mingled  by  the  fire.  There  was  not  very 
much  of  the  latter  :  neither  of  these  women  wa« 
of  a  demonstrative  nature ;  and,  with  both,  the 
grief  which  oppressed  them  was  not  of  that  ten- 
der kind  which  can  be  "cried  away."  A  few 
hot,  bitter  drops ;  a  few  dry,  choking  sobs,  and 
that  was  all.  Before  very  long,  Mrs.  Gordon'! 
voice  recalled  him. 


IN   THE   DAWH. 


257 


"Mr.  Warwick,"  she  said — and  Mr.  Warwick 
turned  instantly  and  came  back  to  the  fireplace. 
A  small  round  table,  on  which  some  supper  had 
been  arranged  for  Morton  and  himself,  was  still 
near  the  hearth-rug  where  it  had  been  placed. 
Mrs.  Gordon  and  Katharine  were  standing  on  one 
»ide  of  it  as  he  advanced  from  the  other.  In 
this  manner  they  faced  each  other.  There  was 
something  almost  judicial  about  the  scene,  he 
could  not  help  thinking. 

"  Mr.  Warwick,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  a  little 
formally,  "  will  you  look  at  the  paper  which  I 
gave  you  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  see  if  Miss 
Tresham's  answers  correspond  to  the  answers 
written  there  ?  "  Then  she  turned  to  Katharine. 
— "  Don't  think  that  I  intrude  upon  your  re- 
serve," she  said,  gently,  "  when  I  ask  you  to  tell 
me  how  you  are  related  to — to  Mr.  St.  John  ?  " 

"I  have  no  reason  for  reserve  upon  that 
point,"  Katharine  answered.  "  I  have  not  had 
for  some  time.  I  am  his  sister." 

"  His  own  sister?" 

«  Yes — his  own  sister.  There  were  "  — her 
voice  faltered  —  "  there  were  only  two  of 
us." 

"And  will  you  let  me  ask  what  was  your 
mother's  maiden  name  ?  " 

Katharine  looked  a  little  surprised.  She  did 
not  understand — she  did  not  see  the  point  or 
meaning — of  these  questions.  But  she  felt 
Bomewhat  apathetic  and  indifferent  about  them. 
It  was  strange  that  Mrs.  Gordon  should  ask  such 
things  at  such  a  time ;  but  there  was  no  reason 
why  she  should  not  answer  them ;  and  so— after 
a  second — she  replied : 

"  My  mother's  maiden  name  was  Katharine 
O'Grady." 

Mrs.  Gordon  looked  at  Mr.  Warwick.  He 
glanced  up  from  the  paper,  with  a  slightly-signifi- 
cant expression.  Nothing  was  said — only  that 
glance  was  exchanged — and  then  the  lady  turned 
again  to  address  Katharine. 

"  Forgive  me  for  pressing  yon,  but  I  should 
like  to  ask  one  or  two  further  questions.  Was 
your  grandfather  an  Irishman  by  birth,  and  did 
he  live  in  Martinique  ?  " 

"  So  I  have  heard  my  aunt  say,"  Katharine 
answered.  "  I  never  saw  him — he  died  before  I 
was  born.  My  mother  and  my  aunt  were  both 
native  West-Indians,"  she  went  on.  "  They  were 
born  in  Martinique." 

"  And  do  you  remember  your  mother  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Oh,  no.  She  died  when  I  was  a  few 
weeks  old.  My  aunt  was  my  mother,"  she  said, 
•oftly. 


"  And  did  she  never  tell  you  any  thing  about 
your  father  ? — who,  or  what  he  was  ?  " 

"  Never.  My  impression  always  was  that  he 
was  dead — though  I  cannot  remember  that  my 
aunt  ever  absolutely  said  so."  She  paused  a 
moment,  then  added :  "  Since  her  own  death,  I — 
I  have  sometimes  thought  this  might  not  be," 

Mrs.  Gordon  extended  her  hand  across  the 
table,  and  took  from  Mr.  Warwick  the  slip  of 
paper,  which  he  at  once  surrendered.  She  gave 
it  to  Katharine,  saying : 

"  I  wrote  those  answers  to  the  questions  I 
have  asked  you  before  you  came  down— read 
them." 

Wondering  more  and  more  the  girl  obeyed. 
This  was  what  she  read — written  hastily  in  pen- 
cil on  the  torn  fragment  of  a  letter. 

"  Maiden  name  of  mother — Katharine  0'. 
Grady. 

"  Time  of  her  death — soon  after  the  birth  of 
her  second  child. 

"  Grandfather  an  Irishman  by  birth,  who  lived 
in  Martinique." 

Katharine  looked  up  with  profound  astonish- 
ment visible  in  her  face. 

"  I  gave  the  paper  to  Mr.  Warwick,  when  he 
went  for  you,"  Mrs.  Gordon  answered. 

"  But  how — how  was  it  possible  ?  How  did 
you — know  ?  " 

"  Child,"  answered  the  other,  so  gently  and 
sadly  that  her  voice  seemed,  as  it  were,  to  still 
instead  of  excite  emotion,  "  I  know,  because  I 
heard  the  whole  story  from  your  father's  lips." 

Mr.  Warwick,  who  was  looking  on  apprehen- 
sively,  notwithstanding  this  apprehension,  was 
alarmed  by  the  change  that  at  those  words 
came  over  Katharine's  face.  She  turned  deadly 
pale,  and  quivered  from  head  to  foot  Did 
something  like  an  instinct  of  the  truth  dawn 
upon  her?  It  almost  seemed  so.  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  fear,  doubt,  terror,  and  amazement, 
were  all  struggling  in  her  eyes  and  in  her  voice 
when  she  spoke. 

"  Mrs.  Gordon  " — it  was  fairly  a  wail—"  what 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

But  having  gone  thus  far — having  made  re- 
treat absolutely  hopeless— Mrs.  Gordon's  courage 
failed.  Woman-like,  she  looked  at  the  man 
standing  by  with  a  glance  that  asked,  "  What 
must  I  say  ?  " 

Mr.  Warwick  answered  the  glance  quietly, 

almost  sternly. 

"  It  is  too  late  to  hesitate  now,"  he  said. 
"  Tell  her." 

"  Yes,  tell  me  1 "  cried  Katharine,  clutching 


258 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


the  table  with  one  hand,  and  looking  up  with 
eyes  full  of  passionate  appeal.  "  I — I  must 
hear  it  now.  Tell  me — tell  me  at  once  ! " 

"  Have  you  never  thought — have  you  never 
suspected — who  your  father  might  be  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Gordon. 

"  I— how  could  I  ?  " 

"  Have  you  never  thought  that  the  man  who 
ruined  your  brother's  life — that  the  man  who 
ruined  my  life — and  the  man  who  ruined  your 
mother's  life,  might  be  one  and  the  same  ?  " 

"  My  God  !— no  ! " 

Mrs.  Gordon  pointed  to  the  paper  in  her 
hand.  My  husband,"  she  said,  "  came  to  me 
yesterday  evening.  He  demanded  Felix,  and, 
when  I  refused,  he  threatened  me  with  the  loss 
of  the  child's  inheritance.  When  I  was  incredu- 
lous of  his  power  to  fulfil  the  threat,  he  told  me 
that  he  had  an  elder  son  living — the  child  of  an 
early  marriage — and  that  the  name  of  this  son 
was — " 

But  here  Katharine  interrupted — her  voice 
ringing,  with  a  tone  of  horror  in  it  through  the 
quiet  room : 

"  It  cannot  be  !  "  she  cried,  almost  wildly. 
"  0  Mrs.  Gordon,  stop — stop  and  think  !  Don't 
utter  any  thing  which  is  so  horrible,  which  must 
i«e  so  untrue!  It — "  she  made  a  motion  with 
her  hands,  as  if  thrusting  it  from  her — "  it  can- 
not be  true!" 

"  I  see  that  you  know  what  I  mean,"  said 
Mrs.  Gordon,  calmly — and  again  her  quietude 
seemed  to  still  Katharine's  passionate  excite- 
ment. "  Come  with  me,"  she  added,  in  a  lower 
voice.  "  What  I  have  to  say  to  you  can  best  be 
•aid  in  his  presence." 

She  drew  the  girl's  hand  within  her  arm,  and 
— before  Mr.  Warwick  could  interfere — led  her 
from  the  room.  They  crossed  the  hall,  and  en- 
tered the  apartment  where  the  dead  man  lay. 
Outside  the  windows  was  all  the  dewy  freshness 
of  Nature's  happy  morning  wakening — birds 
twittering,  leaves  softly  rustling,  life  everywhere 
— inside  was  the  terrible  quietude,  the  settled 
stillness  which  pervades  the  air  of  a  death-cliam- 
ber,  and  makes  our  very  pulses  seem  to  our- 
selves out  of  unison  with  its  deep  repose. 

When  they  both  stood  by  the  couch,  looking 
down  on  that  marble  face,  Mrs.  Gordon  spoke. 

"  This  man,"  she  said,  "  wronged  me  more 
deeply  than  he  could  ever  have  wronged  any  one 
else — save,  perhaps,  that  poor  victim  of  his  vice 
and  crime  who  lies  dead  above  us.  I  have  strug- 
gled all  this  long  night  for  the  power  to  say  that 
I  forgive  him.  Thinking  of  all  that  he  has  done 


— of  all  that  he  had  the  will  to  do — I  have  not 
yet  been  able  to  say  this.  But,  standing  here 
with  you  now,  I  feel  that  your  debt  against  him 
ia  even  heavier  than  mine.  Your  mother  and 
your  brother — he  ruined  and  killed  them  both. 
He  made  your  life  the  hard  and  bitter  thing  which 
it  must  have  been.  He — your  father — left  you 
without  a  thought  or  a  care  to  struggle  alone,  in 
your  woman's  helplessness,  against  the  world. 
Count  up  all  these  things,  as  I  have  done — add 
up  every  sigh,  and  tear,  and  drop  of  blood.  Then 
see  if  you  are  Christian  enough  to  stand  here—- 
here by  his  side  —  and  say  that  you  forgive 
him  ! " 

Her  words  rang  through  her  listener's  heart 
with  a  strange  power,  her  voiee  was  full  of  the 
modulations  of  a  passion  for  which  language  has 
no  name.  As  she  spoke,  her  very  soul — her 
quivering,  stricken,  human  soul — seemed  laid 
bare  before  the  girl  who  listened.  The  horror 
of  it  was  too  much  for  Katharine.  The  still, 
white  face  swam  before  her  eyes  —  a  deadly 
faintness  came  over  her.  She  fought  hard 
against  the  rising  tide  of  unconsciousness  ;  but 
fought  vainly.  Things  tangible  faded  away  from 
her  for  a  time — how  long,  or  how  short,  she 
could  not  tell — but  when  she  came  to  herself, 
she  was  sitting  before  the  window  with  the  fresh 
air  playing  over  her  face,  and  Mrs.  Gordon's 
hand  resting  on  her  brow. 

"  I  shall  never  forgive  myself,"  she  was  say- 
ing. "  I  ought  to  have  thought — I  ought  to 
have  known — " 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Katharine,  rallying  a 
little.  "  I  have  not  fainted  yet.  I — I  don't 
think  I  shall."  Then  she  roused  herself,  and 
caught  the  hand  which  was  on  her  brow.  "  Is  it 
true  ?  "  she  asked,  passionately.  "  I  cannot 
think — I  cannot  reason  and  consider  all  the 
links  of  evidence.  I  shall  believe  you,  if  you 
tell  me  it  is  true." 

Mrs.  Gordon  bent  down  and  kissed  her  ten- 
derly. "  It  is  true,"  she  said. 

Nothing  more  was  uttered  for  some  time. 
Katharine  sank  back  again,  and  closed  her  eyes. 
Mrs.  Gordon  stood,  like  a  statue,  by  her  side. 
Into  fuller  and  yet  fuller  radiance  glowed  the 
east — royal  tints  of  every  imaginable  color  melt- 
ing  and  changing*  jind  softening  into  each  other, 
and  waxing  more  glorious  with  every  succeeding 
moment,  on  the  wide  panorama  of  sky.  Who 
can  look  on  such  a  scene  with  the  mere  eye  of 
sense,  or  the  mere  thought  of  earth  ?  "  Heaven 
and  earth  are  full  of  the  majesty  of  Thy  jrlory  !" 
rises  instinctivolv  to  the  mind  aiid  to  the  lips.  I 


A   TURN   OF   FOruuAK'iS   WHEEL. 


259 


•unset  comes  to  us  like  &  sweet,  solemn  Tesper, 
after  the  weary,  busy  cares  of  day,  surely  eunrise 
is  like  a  grand,  triumphal  symphony,  bursting 
and  thrilling  from  a  million  notes  into  one  noble 
harmony  of  exultant  praise!  It  seemed  so  to 
Katharine  when  she  opened  her  eyes  and  saw 
the  dazzling  glory  spread  before  her.  With  an 
impulse  that  startled  her  companion,  she  rose  to 
her  feet,  and  half  turned  toward  the  dead  man, 
on  whose  changeless  face  the  glowing  splendors 
fell. 

"  Oh,  who  are  we,  to  talk  of  forgiveness  ! " 
she  said — and  her  voice,  with  a  deep,  pathetic 
thrill  in  it,  fell  strangely  on  the  hushed  calm — 
"  is  there  any  wrong  so  great  that  it  is  not  easy 
to  forgive  it  if  we  only  think  of  the  dear  Lord 
who  will  one  day  need  to  forgive  us  so  much  ? 
Can  we  harden  our  hearts  over  any  thing,  if 
we  only  remember  that  our  free,  generous,  will- 
ing pardon  of  all  wrongs  may  touch  His  heart, 
and  make  Him  more  merciful  to  the  soul  that 
has  gone  forth  to  meet  His  justice?  0  Mrs. 
Gordon,  we  do  not  know — we  cannot  tell  how,  in 
what  degree,  our  forgiveness  may  benefit  this 
life  which  has  passed  forever  from  our  life, 
which,  in  all  the  ages  of  eternity,  can  never, 
never  harm  us  again!  Let  us  —  oh,  let  us  — 
fcere — now — say  that  we  forgive  him — that  we 
/orgive  him  for  ourselves,  and  for  those  he  has 
injured  far  more  than  us  ! " 

Her  earnest  pathos  startled  and  awed  Mrs. 
Gordon ;  bent  her,  as  it  were,  without  any  resist- 
ance, to  the  higher  passion,  the  stronger  will. 
They  advanced  to  the  couch,  and  side  by  side 
said  the  words  together. 

As  they  uttered  them,  the  sun  rose,  and,  with 
the  first  flood  of  golden  light,  a  myriad  of  birds 
burst  forth  into  rejoicing.  The  night  was  past, 
the  day  was  come.  As  the  glory  of  the  sunlight 
streamed  over  their  bending  figures,  it  seemed 
like  the  promise  of  a  brighter,  happier  future — 
like  the  earnest  of  a  day  of  tranquil  peace,  after 
the  night  of  troubled  terror. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 
A  TURN  OF  FORTUNE'S  WHEEL. 

A  WEEK  after  the  double  tragedy  at  Morton 
House,  and  while  all  Lagrange  was  still  ringing 
with  the  noise  of  it,  Miss  Vernon  walked  across 
the  lawn  of  her  brother-in-law's  residence  with 
Morton  Annesley. 

The  young  man  was  on  his  way  to  bring  Fe- 
lix Gordon  home,  and  had  only  stopped  a  few 


minutes  to  deliver  a  note  and  a  message  from 
Miss  Tresham  to  her  late  kind  entertainers. 
But,  when  he  rose  to  make  his  adieus,  he  sud- 
denly recollected  something  else  that  he  wished 
to  say,  and,  much  to  Mrs.  Raynor's  regret,  asked 
Miss  Vernon  to  walk  "  down  to  the  bridge  "  with 
him.  Irene  consented,  and  they  were  soon  on 
their  way  to  that  spot — a  very  favorite  spot  with 
every  habitue  of  the  place.  The  lawn  was  ex- 
ceedingly  pretty  now  that  every  thing  began  to 
wear  the  light,  silvery-green  livery  of  early 
spring  ;  but  the  special  charm  of  it,  the  special 
thing  which  made  it  different  from  other  lawns, 
was  the  creek  which  flashed  along  under  a  fringe 
of  willows  and  laurel,  and  the  graceful  bridge 
which  was  thrown  across  it.  When  they  reached 
this  spot,  they  paused — the  bright  water  flowed 
beneath  their  feet,  the  soft  shadows  flickered 
overhead,  and  a  lovely  perspective  of  lawn  and 
shrubbery  opened  behind  them.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  stream — set,  as  it  were,  in  an  arch- 
way  of  green — a  travelling-carriage  with  servants 
in  attendance,  and  a  trunk  strapped  on,  waa 
standing  in  the  shade — the  horses  switching 
their  tails  leisurely,  and  the  servants  amicably 
gossiping.  The  whole  sweet,  spring  wealth  of 
tender  Beauty  and  indescribable  charm  was  all 
around  and  all  about  them,  until  indeed  on« 
might  have  wondered 

" how  it  was 

That  any  one,  in  such  a  world  might  grieve, 
At  least  for  long,  at  what  might  come  to  pass ; 
The  soft  south-wind,  the  flowers  amid  the  grass, 
The  fragrant  earth,  the  sweet  sounds  everywhere 
Seemed  gifts  too  great  almost  for  man  to  bear." 

The  day  was  rapidly  advancing  toward  its 
meridian,  but  Annesley  seemed  in  no  haste  to 
begin  his  journey.  Irene  wondered  a  little  at 
his  delay,  as,  instead  of  saying  good-by,  he 
stood  before  her,  and  looked  and  listened  while 
she  tii  Iked  of  Katharine. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  no  hope  that  Miss  Tresh- 
am will  return  to  us,"  she  said,  twisting  the  note 
which  he  had  brought  around  her  fingers.  "I 
am  very  sorry— we  are  all  very  sorry.  We  have 
missed  her  so  much  since  she  went  away.  She 
is  one  of  the  most  attractive  and  sympathetic 
persons  I  ever  knew.  George  said  only  last  night 
that  he  would  be  willing  to  go  to  school  himself 
for  the  pleasure  of  securing  her  as  a  permanent 
inmate."  , 

"  Mrs.  Gordon  needs  her  more  than  you  do, 
said  Annesley.  smiling  a  little.     "  Will  not  that 
console  you?     Ah!   you  don't  know  all  that  sht 
has  passed  through ! " 


260 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


"She!  Do  you  mean  Mrs.  Gordon,  or  Miss 
Tresham  ?  " 

"Both — but  I  mean  Mrs.  Gordon."  He 
ftopped  a  moment,  then  added :  "  Of  course  you 
have  heard  the  whole  terrible  story  ! " 

"No,  I  have  not,"  she  answered.  "  I  believe 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  gossip  afloat,  but  I  rarely 
heed  gossip." 

"  Still,  you  have  heard — " 

"  Something,  undoubtedly." 

"  How  those  wretched  men  were  killed,  for 
instance  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  How  hor- 
rible it  was ! " 

"  How  much  like  retribution  it  was  I "  re- 
turned the  young  man,  with  a  dark  cloud  coming 
over  his  face.  "  I  confess  that  my  pity  all  went 
with  that  poor  fellow  St.  John,"  he  said.  "  He 
was  hardly  used  in  every  way.  Miss  Irene,  did  you 
ever  trace  out  a  sequence  of  cause  and  effect  ?  " 

"  Never,"  she  answered — then  added,  smiling, 
"  I  am  like  the  lilies  of  the  field,  not  worth  much 
either  for  toiling  or  reflecting." 

"  You  are  like  them  in  another  respect  also," 
said  he,  pointing  the  compliment  by  the  admi- 
ration in  his  eyes  as  they  lingered  on  her  face, 
which  was  indeed  like  a  lily  in  its  stainless 
beauty.  "But  I  am  sure  you  have  sometimes 
noticed  the  strange  connection  between  events, 
the  strange  manner  in  which  circumstances  seem 
to  act  and  react  on  each  other." 

"  I  assure  you  I  never  have.  I  eat  my  daily 
bread,  and  am  thankful  for  it,  without  troubling 
myself  to  think  that  somebody  must  have  sowed 
and  reaped  and  garnered  it  yesterday.  I  remem- 
ber, however,  that  you  once  suggested  something 
of  this  kind — about  Mrs.  Gordon." 

"  It  is  a  very  fascinating  occupation,  when 
you  once  get  fairly  into  the  spirit  of  it,"  said  he, 
leaning  against  the  railing  of  the  bridge. 

He  could  have  stayed  there  all  day,  he 
thought,  with  the  pretty  music  of  the  stream  in 
his  ears,  and  those  wonderful  blue  eyes  gazing  at 
him.  In  the  midst  of  his  reflections,  he  forgot 
to  think  what  a  strange  comment  on  this  strange 
self-absorbed  life  of  ours  his  very  mood  and  the 
very  tone  of  conversation  made.  The  awful 
tragedy  which  had  carried  two  souls  into  eter- 
nity, and  wrung  two  living  hearts  with  the  bit- 
terness of  death,  had  become  a  topic  to  be  dis- 
cussed with  philosophical  curiosity  in  the  midst 
of  a  scene  like  this. 

"  Tell  me  the  facts  as  they  really  occurred," 
eaid  Miss  Vernon,  "  that  is,  if  I  am  not  asking 
you  to  violate  confidence." 


"  No,"  he  answered,  gravely,  "  facts  can  harm 
nobody  now.  Indeed,  there  is  so  much  exagger- 
ation of  them,  that  it  is  well  the  truth  should  be 
known." 

Then  he  began,  and  told  her  all  that  had  oc- 
curred— soon  drifting  by  insensible  degrees  into 
more  than  the  bare  outline  of  events.  Some- 
thing in  the  sympathetic  face  and  honest  eyea 
made  him  sure  she  could  be  trusted ;  and  so, 
while  the  servants  and  horses  waited  as  patiently 
or  as  impatiently  as  they  could,  while  the  water 
rippled,  and  the  shadows  flickered,  he  gave  a 
sketch  of  the  different  causes  that  had  led  to 
this  result.  Her  interest  and  astonishment  were 
almost  beyond  power  of  expression.  St.  John 
the  son  of  Gordon !  Katharine  the  step-daugh- 
ter of  Pauline  Morton !  Little  as  he  felt  inclined 
for  such  a  thing,  Annesley  could  almost  have 
laughed  at  the  overwhelming  surprise  on  her 
face. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  said.  "  My  cousin  tells  me 
that  the  last  assurance  her  husband  gave  her  was 
of  his  first  marriage,  that  St.  John  was  his  eldest 
son,  and  the  heir  of  the  Gordon  estate." 

"  And — and  does  Mrs.  Gordon  mean  to  make 
this  public  ?  " 

"  No — making  it  public  would  involve  too 
many  painful  disclosures.  The  horror  of  the 
tragedy  would  be  doubly  augmented,  if  people 
knew  that  a  son  (however  ignorantly)  had  killed 
his  own  father.  Besides,  it  is  unnecessary.  My 
cousin  is  going  to  Scotland  soon,  and  the  affairs 
of  her  life  matter  nothing  to  the  people  she 
leaves  behind — this  time  forever." 

"  But  Miss  Tresham  ?  " 

"  Miss  Tresham  will  accompany  her." 

"  Indeed  ! "  Miss  Vernon  started  a  little. 
"  I  am  surprised  to  hear  that,"  she  said,  simply, 
almost  involuntarily. 

"  Why  should  you  be  surprised  ?  "  he  asked. 
"Don't  you  think  it  is  the  natural  thing  and  the 
right  thing — on  both  'sides  ?  " 

«Yes — oh,  yes,  I" — she  stopped,  hesitated, 
blushed  somewhat — "I  was  not  thinking  of  that. 
I  was  thinking,  if  you  will  pardon  my  candor, 
Mr.  Annesley,  of  you." 

"  Of  me !  "  said  he,  blushing  himself,  in  the 
boyish  fashion  which  he  had  never  quite  out- 
grown, yet  smiling  at  her  embarrassment.  "  And 
may  I  ask  what  you*  were  thinking  abo^t  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  you  don't  need  to  ask,"  answered 
she,  with  a  direct  frankness  which  some  carping 
people  called  brusquerie.  "  Perhaps  1  have  no 
right  to  speak  on  such  a  subject,  but" — a  win- 
ning  smile,  half-bright,  half-soft — "my  excust 


A   TURN   OF  FORTUNE'S   WHEEL. 


261 


a,  that  I  should  be  very  glad  to  see  you  both 
happy." 

"  I  hope  we  may  both  be  happy,"  said  he, 
earnestly.  "  But,  dear  Miss  Irene,  I  think  it  will 
be  apart — not  together.  Miss  Tresham  has  re- 
jected me." 

"  I  never  thought  you  lacked  perseverance." 

41 1  don't  think  I  do — when  there  is  any  thing 
to  be  gained  by  it.  But  you  would  not  advise 
me  to  waste  time  and  effort  in  a  hopeless  suit  ? 
Did  you  read  the  letter  which  Miss  Tresham 
wrote  to  me  the  night  before  she  left  Belle- 
font?" 

"  I !  How  could  I  ?  "  she  asked,  flushing. 
"  What  a  strange  opinion  you  must  have  of  Miss 
Tresham  if  you  think  she  would  show  such  a 
letter ;  or  of  me,  if  you  think  I  would  read  it ! " 

"  Don't  be  indignant ! "  said  he,  smiling. 
"  You  forget  that  Miss  Tresham  and  yourself 
were  in  the  same  house,  and  good  friends  be- 
sides. There  would  have  been  nothing  repre- 
hensible in  her  showing  you  the  letter — nothing, 
certainly,  that  I  should  have  been  inclined  to 
resent.  It  was  a  very  charming  letter,"  said  he, 
with  a  slight  grimace.  "The  only  misfortune 
was,  that  I  was  not  exactly  in  a  frame  of  mind 
to  appreciate  this,  when  I  received  it.  I  read  it 
over  last  night,  and  appreciated  it  better,  I 
think.  It  is  exceedingly  kind,  but  very  decided. 
If  I  had  it  here,  I  would  show  it  to  you,  and  ask 
you  if  you  thought  it  worth  while  to  persevere  in 
the  face  of  such  a  '  No '  as  that." 

"  You  certainly  take  your  disappointment 
very  philosophically,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  with  a 
Blight  tinge  of  sarcasm  in  her  voice. 

He  changed  color  a  little. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  that  I  take  it 
lightly,"  he  said.  "  I  assure  you  it  has  been  a 
very  serious  matter  with  me.  I  was  as  wretched 
down  there  in  Apalatka,  as — well,  as  anybody 
could  possibly  wish  to  be.  But  no  man  with 
any  sense  or  self-respect  will  spend  life  pining 
and  moaning  because  a  woman  has  rejected  liim. 
1  fought  hard  for  resignation,  and  I  think  I  may 
say  that  I  have  gained  it." 

"  You  are  resigned  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  resigned." 

Miss  Vernon  looked  at  him  with  an  expres- 
sion on  her  face  which  he  did  not  understand — 
a  mixture  of  half-puzzled  surprise  and  struggling 
remembrance,  which  puzzled  him  in  turn.  She 
could  not  tell  of  what  his  tone  and  manner  re- 
minded her,  until,  like  a  flash,  she  recalled  the 
day  when  they  had  walked  up  and  down  the 
piazza  at  Annesdale,  and  he  had  spoken  of  Mrs. 


Gordon,  and  of  the  content  with  Kfe  and  tha 
things  of  life  which  could  be  gained — so  he  said 
— by  fighting  for  it.  She  remembered  how  she 
had  questioned  whether  this  philosophy  of  his— 
a  buoyant,  healthful  philosophy,  which,  even  in 
theory,  had  commanded  her  respect  —  would 
bear  the  test  of  disappointment  or  failure.  Was 
her  question  being  answered  now  ?  Was  this, 
indeed,  the  content  which  is  the  victorious  fruit 
of  struggle,  or  was  it  only  that  mask  of  indiffer- 
ence which  often  betrays,  instead  of  hiding,  the 
deepest  wound  ? 

"  You  astonish  me,"  she  said.  "  I  had  an 
idea — I  really  don't  know  why — that  you  were 
very  constant,  very  tenacious,  in  your  affections. 
This  makes  me  think  that  I  was  mistaken  in  that 
opinion." 

He  colored  again,  and  looked  at  her  with  an 
expression  which  she,  in  turn,  did  not  quite 
understand, 

"  Won't  you  distinguish  between  constancy 
and  obstinacy  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  think  there  is 
a  distinction.  One  may  be  constant  to  an  affec- 
tion as  long  as  there  is  hope  of  return ;  but, 
surely,  it  is  the  height  of  folly  to  hold  obsti- 
nately to  a  sentiment  which  causes,  and  can 
cause,  only  pain.  Dou't  you  think  it  is  desirable 
to  control  one  passion  as  well  as  another — tha 
passion  of  love,  as  well  as  the  passion  of  auger 
or  revenge?  I  won't  pretend  to  tell  you  how 
much  it  has  cost  me  to  be  able  to  say  that  I  am 
resigned ;  but  if  you  did  know — if  you  could 
know — you  would  not,  I  am  sure,  accuse  me  of 
being  inconstant  or  light." 

"  I — I  did  not,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  a  little 
contritely.  "  The  fact  is,  I  am  unreasonable," 
she  went  on,  half-laughing.  "  It  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  please  me,  I  am  afraid.  Nobody  would 
have  bei-n  more  sorry  than  I,  if  you  had  taken 
Miss  Tresham's  rejection  to  heart  after  the  ap- 
proved romantic  mode ;  and  yet,  you  see,  I  find 
fault  with  you  for  showing  yourself  a  sensible 
young  man  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Desper- 
ate love  has  quite  gone  out  of  fashion,"  she 
said,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders.  "  Nowaday 
you  are  all  so  reasonable,  that  it  is  quite  edify- 
ing. I  have  been  wasting  a  good  deal  of  sym- 
pathy on  you ;  I  see,  now,  that  I  must  change  it 
to  respect." 

"  And  I  see  that  you  are  determined  to  give 
me  a  liberal  taste  of  mockery,"  he  said.  "  I 
thought  you  would  be  more  kind — more  just." 

"  Indeed,  you  are  mistaken,"  she  answered. 
"  Indeed,  I  am  glad,  heartily  glad,  that  I  am  abla 
to  change  sympathy  to  respect.  You  must 


263 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


not  think  otherwise.     I  should  be  very  sorry  if 
you  were — were  suffering." 

"Since  I  am.  not  suffering,  however,  you 
think  I  am  able  to  bear  a  little  sarcasm  on  my 
unfortunate  exemption." 

"You  are  provoking!"  she  said.  "You 
know  better,  and  I  shall  not  reason  with  you 
any  longer.  Let  me  inquire  if  you  have  any  in- 
tention of  reaching  Suxford  to-day  ?  " 

"  There  will  not  be  the  least  difficulty  in  do- 
ing so ;  the  roads  are  excellent,  and  my  horses 
perfectly  fresh.  It  is  growing  late,  though,"  he 
said,  with  a  regretful  look  at  the  shadows  round 
him.  "  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go — I  suppose  I 
must  go.  Before  doing  so,  however,  I  should 
like  to  convince  you—" 

"  Never  mind,"  she  interrupted,  hastily ;  "  I 
am  quite  convinced.  Besides,  it  is  not  a  matter 
of  any  importance.  My  opinion — " 

"  Is  of  great  importance  to  me,"  he  said, 
eagerly.  "  I  want  to  show  you — I  want  to 
prove  to  you — that  I  am  neither  inconstant  nor 
light." 

"  That  expression  —  which,  by-the-way,  I 
don't  at  all  remember  having  used — seems  to 
rankle  with  you !  "  she  said,  trying  to  laugh,  yet 
feeling  vaguely  conscious  that  the  scene  was 
growing  too  earnest  for  her  taste.  "  I  don't 
mean  to  be  inhospitable,"  she  went  on,  "  but  I 
really  think  you  ought  to  go ;  those  poor  ser- 
vants look  so  tired,  and  I  fancy  they  are  gazing 
reproachfully  at  me,  thinking  that  I  keep  you." 
"  They  make  a  great  mistake,  then,"  he  said, 
smiling;  "for  it  is  I  who  am  keeping  you — un- 
willingly enough  on  your  part,  as  I  perceive.  It 
is  amazingly  hard  to  go.  This  is  certainly  the 
pleasantest  and  prettiest  spot  in  Lagrange.  I 
wish  I  was  an  artist ;  I  would  paint  you  as  you 
Btand  there  now.  The  whole  scene  is  lovely,  and 
you — pardon  me,  if  I  say  so — never  looked  more 
beautiful." 

"  You  are  not  an  artist,  though,  and  I  am  not 
standing  for  my  portrait,"  answered  Miss  Ver- 
non,  turning  away.  "  I  see  I  must  make  the  first 
move,"  she  went  on.  "  I  hope  you  will  have  a 
pleasant  journey.  Good-by." 

He  followed  her,  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  If 
I  am  obliged  to  go,  at  least  you  must  tell  me 
good-by  after  a  more  cordial  fashion,"  he  said. 
"  I  shall  be  back  soon.  Shall  I  find  you  still 
here  ?  " 

She  gave  him  her  hand  and  smiled.  "  Very 
probably  you  will,"  she  said — "  unless  George 
becomes  more  amiable  than  he  is  at  present, 
about  letting  Flora  go.  Give  my  love  to  the 


Lesters  if  you  see  them  in  Apalatka,"  she  adoVd. 
"  Once  more,  good-by." 

This  time  he  echoed  her  farewell,  and  took 
his  departure.  But  long  after  he  had  left  the 
pretty  lawn,  and  silvery  creek  behind,  her  ff.ir 
face,  her  tender  eyes,  her  bright  smile  bore  han 
company.  Try  as  he  would,  he  could  think  of — 
he  could  see  nothing  else.  "  How  beautiful  she 
is  ! "  he  caught  himself  saying  again  and  again. 
Yet  something  told  him  that  her  beauty  was  the 
least  part  of  her,  that  the  regular  features,  the 
lily-white  complexion,  the  golden  hair,  and  violet 
eyes,  would  have  been  worth  little  indeed  with- 
out the  brave,  noble  soul,  the  strong,  sweet  na- 
ture, which  shone  through  these  outer  coverings, 
and  glorified  them,  "  like  the  lamp  of  naphtha  in 
the  alabaster  vase."  He  had  only  lately  learned 
to  know  this.  Until  within  the  last  few  months, 
Irene  Vernon  had  been  to  him  a  woman  merely 
like  other  women — a  girl  like  the  majority  of 
girls,  only  a  little  less  attractive,  perhaps,  on  ac- 
count of  her  haughty  beauty.  Now  an  in- 
stinct began  to  dawn  upon  him  that  hence- 
forth in  his  life  she  was  to  be  set  apart  from 
all  other  women.  The  memory  of  his  fevered 
passion  for  Katharine  seemed  to  fade  away. 
That  graceful  figure,  that  exquisite  face,  still 
stood  there  on  the  bridge,  with  the  bright  water 
flowing  beneath,  the  tender  green  of  earth's  re- 
newed life  all  around,  and  heart,  and  hope,  and 
fancy,  seemed  to  bow  down  before  her  and  say, 
"  Lo !  we  are  thine ! " 

Two  weeks  after  this,  Mrs.  Gordon's  prepa- 
rations for  leaving  America  were  so  nearly  com- 
pleted that  the  day  of  her  departure  was  fixed, 
and  not  far  distant.  Felix  was  once  more  at 
home,  and  all  that  now  detained  her  in  La- 
grange  was  the  final  disposition  of  the  Morton 
property,  and  its  transfer  to  Annesley.  The 
house  which  his  mother  had  so  long  coveted 
for  him  was  at  last  to  be  his,  through  the  kind- 
ness  of  the  very  woman  whose  arrival  had 
caused  Mrs.  Annesley  so  much  of  bitter  heart- 
ache,  so  many  fruitless  schemes  and  plans. 
Where  were  they  all  now  ? — what  end  had  they 
gained  ?  Morton,  with  his  loyal  honesty,  had 
seen  the  straight  path  and  followed  it ;  while 
she  bad  wandered  off  into  dark  and  devious  by- 
ways. And,  after  all,  it  was  Morton,  not  she, 
who  won  at  last  the  prize  on  which  her  heart 
had  boen  set.  Did  the  perception  of  this  teach 
her  wisdom  ?  Doubtful,  indeed  Few  things 
are  more  rare,  than  that  the  eye  once  accustomed 
to  darkness  should  learn  to  love  the  light ;  thai 


A  TURN   OF  FORTUNE'S  WHEEL. 


263 


that  the  nature  which  finds  pleasure  in  hidden 
paths,  should  learn  that  plain  roads  lead  best 
to  plain  ends,  and  that  open  weapons  are  more 
effective,  as  well  as  more  honorable,  than  con- 
cealed and  stealthy  ones.  Still,  Mrs.  Annesley 
was  heartily  glad  of  this  auspicious  end,  and,  in 
her  own  way,  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  herself. 
"  I  should  have  tried  to  do  more  for  Pauline,  if  I 
had  only  known,"  she  said — and  that  was  the 
whole  secret  of  it.  If  she  had  only  known — if 
she  had  only  been  aware  that  something  was  to  be 
gained  by  cousinly  kindness  and  championship, 
she  would  have  buckled  on  her  armor  and  entered 
the  lists  as  fearlessly  as  Morton  himself;  but,  as 
it  was,  why  should  she  have  been  expected  to  do 
such  a  thing  ?  "I  had  my  children  to  think  of," 
she  would  say,  "  and  we  were  never  fond  of  each 
other  at  the  best  of  times."  Every  thing  had 
turned  out  very  well,  and  she  was  glad  of  it ;  but 
she  could  really  see  no  cause  for  blaming  herself 
in  any  thing  she  had  done,  or  failed  to  do,  al- 
though— well — yes — she  might,  perhaps,  have 
been  a  little  more  cordial  to  Pauline. 

As  to  Lagrange,  it  was  thunderstruck  by  the 
news  of  Mrs.  Gordon's  impending  departure,  and 
by  the  rumor — tenfold  exaggerated  —  of  her 
wealth  and  rank.  And  this  was  the  woman  who 
had  lived  in  their  midst  for  six  months,  whom 
2hey  had  persistently  ignored,  and  about  whom 
they  had  circulated  any  number  of  ill-natured 
reports.  A  Morton,  too  !  The  last  direct  repre- 
sentative of  the  oldest  blood  in  the  country! 
What  could  they  have  been  thinking  of! — La- 
grange  waked  up,  as  it  were,  from  a  sort  of 
trance,  and  felt,  in  a  measure,  half-dazed,  and 
totally  unable  to  account  for  its  own  conduct. 
One  thing  was  certain,  however:  Mrs.  Gordon 
must  see  her  old  friends — and,  what  was  consid- 
erably more  important,  her  old  friends  must  see 
Mrs.  Gordon ! — once  more,  at  least,  before  she 
bade  a  final  farewell  to  the  home  of  her  youth. 
The  door  of  Morton  House  was  suddenly  be- 
sieged with  visitors,  and  Harrrison  grew  weary 
of  receiving  cards,  and  saying,  over  and  over 
again,  that  Mrs.  Gordon  begged  to  be  excused 
from  seeing  company — she  was  preparing  for  her 
departure,  and  was,  besides,  not  very  well.  Only 
the  few  friends  who  had  come  forward  to  wel- 
come her,  were  admitted  to  say  farewell  be- 
fore the  wanderer  once  more  turned  her  face 
—this  time  forever — from  her  father's  house. 
These  few  were  struck  by  a  singular  change 
in  her  appearance.  They  had  expected  to  see 
her  looking  much  older,  much  more  broken 
by  the  late  terrible  scenes  through  which  she 


had  passed ;  yet  fragile,  and  pale,  and  worn  at 
she  was,  underneath  all  this  there  was  some- 
thing which  had  not  been  there  before— a 
glimpse  of  the  Pauline  Morton  of  old  coming 
out  under  the  ghastly  change  wrought  by  yean 
and  trouble,  a  possibility  of  reviving  power 
which  no  eye  could  have  been  keen  enough  to 
see  before  The  worst  part  of  the  change  which 
had  so  shocked  her  friends  was  gone  from  her. 
She  was  even  yet  a  woman  on  whom  the  signet 
of  fiery  trials  had  been  branded  too  deeply  ever 
to  fade ;  but  she  was  no  longer  a  woman  resting 
helplessly  under  the  torturing,  haunting  dread 
of  a  terror  that  might  come  to  her  any  day  or 
hour.  Peace  at  least  was  hers  at  last,  and  the 
seal  of  peace — the  promise  of  the  calmer  life 
upon  which  she  was  entering — was  plainly  to  be 
read  upon  her  face. 

"  In  time,  perhaps,  you  may  even  teach  me 
to  be  happy,"  she  would  say,  wistfully,  to  Kath- 
arine. 

And,  indeed,  the  thing  which  seemed  to  give 
her  most  pleasure  was  the  thought  of  this  bright 
and  gentle  companion  whom  she  had  won,  this 
girl  who  all  her  life  long  had  managed  to  find 
some  pearls  of  happineso  under  the  stormiest 
water. 

Katharine,  for  her  part,  made  her  prepara- 
tions to  leave  Lagrange  with  a  reluctance  that 
surprised  herself.  She  did  not  understand  the 
intangible  sadness  and  regret  which  oppressed 
her — she  often  asked  herself  what  it  meant — she 
often  wondered  why  a  dimness  should  come  over 
her  sight,  and  a  choking  rise  in  her  throat  when 
she  looked  out  over  the  fair  hill?  and  woods 
clothed  in  their  lovely  April  green,  and  thought 
how  soon  she  would  leave  them,  never  to  return. 

"  Why  should  I  care  so  much  ?  "  she  would 
ask  herself,  half  indignantly.  "  It  is  no  native 
home  of  mine — it  is  not  as  if  I  had  been  born 
and  reared  here  !  Then,  indeed,  it  might  be  hard 
to  go ;  but  now,  I  do  not  understand  it.  Why 
should  I  care  so  much  ?  "  A  little  while  later  it 
was  all  so  clear  to  her  that  she  could  have 
laughed  at  the  remembrance  of  her  own  per- 
plexity; but  that  wo*  a  little  while  later.  At 
the  time  of  which  we  speak,  no  one  would  have 
suspected  her  hidden  sadness,  her  unaccountable 
reluctance ;  but,  all  the  same,  it  existed — all  the 
same,  she  would  move  about  the  rooms,  and  gal. 
leries,  and  gardens,  of  Morton  House,  brighten- 
ing  and  cheering  every  spot  to  which  she  came, 
but  deplorably  conscious,  meanwhile,  of  a  very 
heavy  heart,  and  asking  herself,  in  puzzled  hon- 
esty, what  it  possibly  meant 


264 


MORTOA    HOCSE. 


At  last  the  day  of  departure  drew  near  at 
hand.  They  were  to  leave  on  Tuesday  morning. 
On  Monday  afternoon  a  heavy  shower  of  rain 
was  falling ;  but  Katharine  wrapped  herself  up 
in  a  large  cloak,  and,  armed  with  an  umbrella, 
set  forth  to  pay  a  farewell  visit  to  Mrs.  Marks. 
Mrs.  Gordon  was  somewhat  shocked,  remon- 
strated, and  insisted  upon  ordering  the  can  .age; 
but  the  girl  obstinately  declined. 

"  I  much  prefer  to  walk,"  she  said.  *  I  don't 
mind  a  rain  like  this,  and  it  looks  as  if  it  might 
clear.  I  can  stay  as  long  as  I  please  if  I  walk, 
you  know ;  and  then  " — a  slight  quiver  of  the 
voice  here — "  it  is  for  the  last  time." 

So  Mrs.  Marks,  who  felt  sufficiently  doleful, 
and  had  entirely  given  up  all  hope  of  the  prom- 
ised visit,  was  equally  astonished  and  delighted 
when  there  came  a  shout  from  the  children  on 
the  front  piazza,  and  the  next  minute  a  drenched 
apparition  of  Katharine,  with  glowing  cheeks 
and  rain-gemmed  hair,  walked  in  upon  her. 

"  So  you  have  come !  "  she  cried,  joyfully. 
"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  I  didn't  look  for  you  at  all 
after  it  began  to  rain." 

"  And  you  thought  an  April  shower  like  this 
would  keep  me  away  from  you,  when  it  is  for  the 
last  time  ?  "  said  Katharine,  dropping  her  wet 
wrappings  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  "  You 
must  have  given  me  credit  for  wanting  to  -see 
you  very  badly — mustn't  she,  children  ? — Katy, 
my  shoes  are  quite  damp.  Can  you  take  them 
into  the  kitchen  to  dry,  and  get  me  a  pair  of 
your  mother's  slippers  to  wear  ?  " 

While  Katy  eagerly  darted  away  on  this  er- 
rand, the  other  children  crowded  around  the 
young  ex-governess,  and  drew  her  into  a  chair. 
What  an  afternoon  it  was  that  followed !  There 
was  so  much  to  say,  so  much  to  tell  of  the  past, 
BO  much  to  promise  of  the  future,  that  the  won- 
der was  how  it  all  was  said,  even  in  the  three  or 
four  hours  which  were  consumed. 

Katharine  made  several  fruitless  attempts  to 
leave  before  she  rose  at  last  and  said  that  she 
must  go. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  dusk  before  I  can 
reach  the  house,"  she  said,  "  and  Mrs.  Gordon 
will  be  uneasy. — No,  no,  children,  don't  do  that " 
—as  several  audible  sobs  were  heard — "this  is 
not  good-by.  You  must  not  think  so.  Mrs. 
Gordon,  and  Felix,  and  I,  are  all  going  to  stop  to 
see  you  to-morrow  morning." 

It  may  not  have  been  "  good-by,"  but  still  it 
was  a  very  lugubrious  leave-taking.  Mrs.  Marks 
broke  down  as  well  as  the  children,  and  Kath- 
arine herself  was  on  the  brink  of  tears  when 


she  left  the  sobbing  group  behind,  and  harried 
along  the  front  walk.  These  tears  were  blinding 
her  to  such  an  extent  that  she  did  not  recognize 
— she  did  not  even  see — a  man  who  had  reached 
the  gate  as  she  came  out  of  the  house,  and  stood 
there  waiting  for  her. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Tresham,"  he  said,  as 
she  fumbled  for  the  latch,  and  his  voice,  which 
was  very  unexpected,  made  her  start  violently. 
"  Are  you  going  to  Morton  House  ?  " 

"  Good  -  evening,  Mr.  Warwick,"  she  an- 
swered, as  the  gate  at  last  yielded,  not  to  her 
touch,  but  to  Mr.  Warwick's,  and  she  came  out 
into  the  road.  "  Yes,  I  am  going  to  Morton 
House.  I  have  been  spending  the  afternoon  with 
Mrs.  Marks,"  she  added,  looking  up  at  him  with 
her  brimming  eyes. 

"  I  think  you  came  very  near  spending  the 
evening  also,"  he  said,  smiling.  She  caught  the 
smile,  and  it  made  her  feel  aggrieved.  She  did 
not,  of  course,  expect  him  to  be  in  tears  like 
Mrs.  Marks,  and  the  children,  and  herself,  but 
still  he  might  have  felt  the  solemnity  of  the  oc- 
casion a  little,  and  he  need  not  have  smiled  in 
that  way,  just  as  if  nothing  more  than  usual  had 
happened  or  was  about  to  happen.  "  You  are 
late  for  such  a  lonely  walk,"  he  said.  "  Give  me 
your  umbrella.  I  will  see  you  safely  to  the 
house." 

"Indeed,  you  need  not  take  that  trouble," 
she  said,  with  a  shade  of  coolness  in  her  tone. 
"  It  is  not  very  late,"  she  went  on.  "  The  road 
may  be  lonely,  but  it  is  entirely  safe,  and  I  had 
much  rather  you  did  not." 

Her  speech  was  cut  short  very  summarily. 
Mr.  Warwick  took  the  umbrella  out  of  her  hand, 
and  held  it  over  her  head,  as  he  walked  along 
the  foot-path  by  her  side. 

"I  am  sorry  if  you  would  'much  rather' 
I  did  not  accompany  you,"  he  said;  "but  I 
cannot  reconcile  it  to  my  conscience  to  let  you 
go  alone  into  the  country  at  such  an  hour  as  this. 
Besides,  if  you  must  know  the  truth,  I  was  on 
my  way  to  Morton  House  when  I  saw  you ;  so 
the  only  difference  is,  whether  I  shall  go  alone  or 
with  a  companion." 

"In  that  case,  I  am  very  glad  that  you 
chanced  to  see  me,"  said  Katharine,  conquering 
her  momentary  grievance.  "  I  need  a  compan- 
ion," she  went  on,  a  little  sadly.  "  My  frame 
of  mind  is  any  thing  but  cheerful.  Oh,  how  hard 
it  is  to  say  good-by  to  people  that  one  loves ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  with  something  of  uncon- 
scious dreariness  in  his  voice,  "  it  is  hard." 

Nothing  more  was   spoken   for  some 


A   TURN  OF  FORTUNE'S  WHEEL. 


265 


They  walked  along,  side  by  side,  and  both  BO 
much  abstracted  that  they  scarcely  noticed  how 
the  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  sun,  which  was  not 
yet  down,  seemed  about  to  break  through  the  west- 
ern clouds.  They  were  by  this  time  fairly  beyond 
the  last  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  the  sweet, 
wild  odors  of  forest  and  field — the  peculiar  spicy 
woodland  fragrance  which  loads  the  very  air 
after  a  spring  rain — were  borne  to  them  by  every 
breeze  that,  in  passing,  shook  myriads  of  glit- 
tering rain-drops  from  the  boughs  under  which 
they  walked.  Katharine  laughed  a  little  as  one 
of  these  quick  showers  sprinkled  her  face. 

"  The  very  trees  are  weeping,"  she  said.  "  I 
wonder  if  I  may  flatter  myself  that  they,  too, 
are  sorry  to  see  me  go  ?  How  fresh  and  fragrant 
every  thing  is !  Surely  there  is  no  month  like 
April ;  and  yet  it  seems  to  me  that,  after  this, 
April  will  always  be  sad  to  me." 

"  You  are  like  a  child  who  thinks  to-day's 
clouds  will  not  be  gone  to-morrow,"  said  Mr. 
Warwick,  smiling  again  ;  but  this  time  in  a  man- 
ner with  which  she  was  not  inclined  to  find  fault. 
"  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  know  that  before 
another  April  eomes  round  Lagrange  will  seem 
to  you  like  a  dull  and  painful  memory  ?  By  that 
time  you  will  wonder  how  you  ever  endured  such 
a  life  as  this,  from  which  you  are  now  sorry  to 
part." 

"  You  think  so  because  you  don't  know  me," 
§he  said,  a  little  resentfully.  "  Whatever  else  I 
may  be,  I  am  not  fickle  nor  ungrateful.  I  love  La- 
grange  now,  and  I  shall  love  it  always.  If  I 
live  to  see  a  hundred  Aprils  come,  I  shall  always 
think  of  this  one,  and — and  be  sorry." 

"  Sorry  to  have  left  poverty  and  toil  behind 
you,  and  gone  to  ease,  and  luxury,  and  happi- 
ness ?  " 

"No,  sorry  to  have  left  so  much  kindness 
and  so  many  dear  friends  behind  me — kindness 
•hown  to  me  in  the  days  of  my  need ;  friends 
who  proved  their  friendship  when  I  was  desolate. 
0  Mr.  Warwick  !  you  do  not  really  believe  that  I 
can  ever  forget  these  things  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Warwick,  touched  by  her 
earnestness.  "  I  do  not  believe  any  thing  un- 
worthy of  you.  I  am  sure  that,  go  where  you 
will,  you  will  retain  a  kindly  remembrance  of  us, 
and  that,  perhaps,  is  as  much  as  we  could  ask." 

"  I  shall  always  think  of  you  as  the  best 
friend  I  have  ever  known,"  she  said.  "  I — I 
cannot  say  good-by  without  thanking  you  once 
more  for  all  your  kindnesses  to  me — they  have 
been  so  many,  so  great." 

"Don't    call  them    kindnesses,"    he    said, 


hastily.  "  They  were  not  that  —  they  were 
pleasures  to  me,  and  I  was  only  glad  that  they 
were  also  services  to  you.  I — " 

Re  stopped.  What  he  was  on  the  point  of 
saying,  he  scarcely  knew ;  but  an  instinct  warned 
him  that  it  was  something  which  had  better  be 
left  unsaid.  He  was  a  self-contained  man,  well 
accustomed  to  controlling  himself  on  all  possi- 
ble occasions  ;  so  he  had  very  little  difficulty  in 
restraining  words  which  he  told  himself  could 
serve  no  good  end.  Why  distress  and  pain  her 
uselessly  ? — why  give  her  a  last  disagreeable 
memory  of  him  to  take  away?  What  folly  it 
was,  after  all !  She  had  unhesitatingly  rejected 
him  when  she  was  poor  and  desolate,  without  a 
home  on  earth  ;  and  was  it  likely — was  it  even 
possible — that  she  would  reconsider  that  deci- 
sion now,  that  she  would  turn  from  the  brilliant 
future  which  opened  before  her,  to  share  his 
homely,  commonplace  life  ?  He  gave  a  sort  of 
mental  laugh — a  laugh  singularly  devoid  of 
merriment — at  the  very  thought. 

"  Is  not  this  the  view  of  which  you  are  BO 
fond  ?  "  he  asked,  pausing  abruptly  on  a  knoll 
which  they  had  reached,  a  gentle  eminence  that 
commanded  a  prospect  of  the  surrounding  coun- 
try— of  all  the  fields  and  meadows  clad  in  bright* 
est  green ;  of  the  hedges  in  full  blossom ;  of 
groups  of  trees  near  by,  with  feathery,  tendef 
foliage ;  of  shadowy  woodlands  far  away ;  of  hilll 
melting  and  stretching  in  graceful  undulations  to 
the  east.  Toward  the  west  there  was  an  ex- 
panse of  open  country,  and  the  sun  (which  had 
now  come  forth)  was  gilding  all  things  with  the 
red  glory  of  sunset,  turning  all  the  rain-drops 
into  diamonds,  and  all  the  little  rain-pools  into 
miniature  fiery  lakes. 

"Yes,  this  is  the  view,"  said  Katharine. 
"  Is  it  not  lovely  ?  " 

She  stood  quite  still,  and  looked  with  linger, 
ing,  pathetic  gaze  on  the  fair  scene.  The  light 
of  the  glowing  western  sky  was  on  her  face  and 
in  her  eye* — soft,  sweet  eyes,  that  were  none  the 
less  lovely  for  the  tears  that  filled  them. 

"  It  is  hard  to  leave,"  she  said  at  last,  sim- 
ply, and  almost  as  if  she  were  thinking  aloud. 

Those  words,  and  the  tone  in  which  they 
were  uttered,  were  too  much  for  the  man  beside 
her.  After  all,  what  did  it  matter?  He  could 
only  hear  again  what  he  had  heard  before — lit 
could  only  receive  the  answer  which  was,  of 
course,  the  sole  possible  answer  for  a  question 
such  as  his.  Still  he  would  ask  it  He  could  do 
no  harm,  at  least ;  and  a  strange,  wild  hope — 
which  he  sternly  tried  to  repress— rusbed  orer 


266 


MORTON   HOUSE. 


him  unaccountably,  and  without  a  moment's 
warning.  The  struggle  with  himself  occupied 
a  minute.  During  that  minute,  the  sun  quietly 
sank  out  of  sight,  and  Katharine,  with  a  wistful 
sigh,  turned  her  face  around. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  go,"  she  said. 
"  Mrs.  Gordon  will  be  uneasy." 

"  We  will  go  in  a  second,"  he  answered, 
quietly — so  quietly  that  she  had  not  the  faintest 
suspicion  of  what  was  coming.  "  You  say  it  is 
hard  to  leave,"  he  went  on.  "  Has  it  ever  oc- 
curred to  you  that  there  is  a  very  easy  way  of 
remaining  ?  I  suppose  it  is  worse  than  folly  for 
me  to  ask  such  a  question,  but  do  you  like  La- 
grange  well  enough  to  give  up  all  this  bright 
future  which  is  opening  before  you,  and  make  it 
your  home  for  life — with  me  ?  " 

The  strong  passion  which,  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, he  did  not  feel  inclined  to  betray — 
which,  under  any  circumstances,  he  was  not  a 
man  likely  to  betray — rang  in  his  voice  despite 
himself,  and  startled  her.  Something  dazzled 
her — something  seemed  to  rush  over  her  with  a 
thrill  beyond  expression.  Was  it  joy,  or  sur- 
prise, or  relief,  or  only  a  great  unutterable  sense 
of  rest,  which  came  suddenly,  like  a  blessing, 
and,  in  its  coming,  showed  how  sore  and  deep 
had  been  the  conflict  to  which  she  was  only  able 
to  give  a  name  now,  that  it  was  forever  ended  ? 
She  stood  for  a  moment  quite  silent — striving  to 


realize,  striving  to  understand  all  that  was  re- 
vealed to  her  so  simply  and  so  strangely.  Mr. 
Warwick  grew  pale,  despite  his  self-control,  and 
set  his  lips  in  a  way  peculiar  to  him.  He  was 
bracing  himself  for  the  reply,  telling  himself 
that,  of  course,  he  had  known  all  the  time  what 
it  would  be,  and  that,  at  least,  he  was  prepared 
for  it. 

If  this  was  the  case,  he  certainly  was  not 
prepared  for  what  came.  After  a  short  pause—- 
it teas  short,  though  it  seemed  to  both  of  them 
very  long — a  white  hand  was  extended,  and  a 
voice  with  a  quiver — half  of  archness,  half  of 
tears — said : 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  do  not  like  La. 
grange  sufficiently  to  give  up  for  its  sake  all 
this  of  which  you  speak,  but — but  I  do  like 
you." 

It  was  not  very  clearly  expressed,  perhaps ; 
but  John  Warwick  had  no  difficulty  in  compre- 
hending what  she  meant.  He  knew  then,  aa 
well  as  he  knew  long  years  afterward,  that  the 
happiness  of  his  life  had  come  to  him  at  last; 
and  as  he  saw  the  sweet  face — with  the  sunset 
glow  still  on  it — turned  toward  him,  wearing  the 
look  that  no  man  was  ever  blind  enough  to  mis- 
take, his  first  words  were  those  which,  for  the 
smallest  as  for  the  greatest  blessing,  should  be 
ever  on  our  lips : 

"Thank  God!" 


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